


forgive the urgency, but hurry up and wait

by soldouthaz



Series: look after you [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: !!!, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Plugs, Anal Sex, Bathing, Body Worship, Bottom Louis, Boyfriends, Car Sex, Cock Warming, Collars, Come Eating, Come play, Coming Untouched, Crying During Sex, Daddy Harry, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Desperate Louis, Dirty Talk, Dom Harry, Dom/sub, Domesticity, Domspace, Dual POV, Established Relationship, Feeding Kink, Feminization, Gags, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Lingerie, Lots of I love you's, Louis in Panties, M/M, Marking with Cum, Marking/Claiming, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Office Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Possessive Harry, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Service Kink, Shower Sex, Somnophilia, Spanking, Sub Louis, Subspace, Top Harry, Unsafe Sex, Wall Sex, a few uses of 'sir', but no mpreg, collaring, feel free to let me know, i may have forgotten some again, impregnation kink/breeding kink, lots of mutual respect, man i love bathing scenes, mutual respect, not sure what the proper term is for that one, oh boy here we go again, one tiny instance of infidelity, one vague mention of food play, reassurance, slight humiliation, soft dom harry, spitting kink, tiny mention of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 53,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: Louis' going to do better. He’s going to have all of the uncomfortable conversations and the relationship talks. He’s going to make himself be a good boyfriend.And he’s got absolutely no idea where to start.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: look after you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649332
Comments: 64
Kudos: 497





	1. 1.0

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is the final part to this series :) it isn’t necessary to read what’s mine is yours to make your own before this, HOWEVER most of the initial negotiation and setting of boundaries/limits takes place there if it’s something you want to know before reading. please let me know if i missed anything in the tags!! 
> 
> as always, everything in here is consensual! this is just a continuation from part one. enjoy! :)

_ Harry _

The beginning of their break goes exceptionally well. It starts on a Monday afternoon in January, exaggerated, breathless grins lingering on their faces far into the night. They go out with Liam and Niall for hours, stumbling into the London flat half past two. Limbs loose and feeling invincible, he fucks Louis hard into the mattress until early the next morning. 

Then, when he hadn’t been able to walk after waking up, Harry made him breakfast at noon and they ate it in bed. Phones discarded somewhere downstairs, it’s been a heavenly few days of repeating that cycle over and over again. 

Their last tour had been amazing. With all of the awkward conversations already out of the way, they’d been able to spend any time they were allowed together properly. Harry got to follow through on the dates he promised, finally. It’d taken him two before he asked Louis to be his boyfriend, and another three before he couldn’t wait anymore and gave him the promise ring he’d picked out months before. 

Sometimes he can’t believe Louis is still  _ here _ . As much as he hates to admit it, the entire first few months of their relationship he’d been waiting for something to change, for Louis to run again. So far, it hasn’t happened. 

He’s downstairs making Louis pancakes so he can have breakfast in bed again with sweatpants hanging loosely over his hips. Liam and Niall tell him he’s whipped, but he doesn’t point out that he thinks Louis would be more into that than he would. Harry enjoys making himself laugh. And Louis. In the end, he doesn’t much care if people think he’s hopelessly in love with his best friend. He is. 

More than anything, he’s just happy they finally figured it out. It’d taken them long enough. Both of their families had called later on to tell them how stupid and clueless they’d been - it’d been a cathartic experience. 

Part of him still worries that something is going to push Louis over the edge, though. The sex is amazing,  _ Louis _ is amazing, but Harry doesn’t expect his issues with intimacy and relationships to just vanish because they’ve added a label to their dynamic. It’s going to be a long process to undo whatever’s kept him so wound up, and the fact that none of that sort of thing has come up again grates on his anxious mind. 

Harry flips the stove off and slips the pancakes onto a plate, pouring two glasses of juice to bring up to the bedroom. He’s going to make the most of their time together, regardless, either before they have to go back on tour or before something  _ else _ happens. But he doesn’t want to waste time with hypotheticals, not when he’s got Louis so close. 

He nudges the bedroom door open with his foot. As soon as he steps in, he nearly drops everything. 

Louis’ got his legs spread, sheets kicked off to the side, three fingers in his mouth and two in his arse. He regards Harry lazily, smirking. 

“I hope you brought syrup.” 

_ Shit _ . 

+

Significantly less sexy is the fact that they’re still figuring out how to be alone together. It becomes obvious very quickly how different everything is now, just how much they were apart when they were being paraded around to venues and events. The excitement was baked right into their routine. 

Harry’s always had this fear that one day Louis would realize just how boring Harry really is - how  _ vanilla _ he is, and change his mind. The thought plagues his dreams at night, has him gasping awake while Louis sleeps soundly beside him. He’s finally got him to himself. The absolute last thing he wants is for Louis to leave. 

In the band, there was constant commotion. An adrenaline high that never seemed to end between each endless obligation. There was always something to do which made things infinitely more interesting when it came to their relationship. 

Louis got off on the hiding. Not so much the actual covering up of their relationship, but the aspect of sneaking around riled him up more times than Harry can remember. Finding the little moments to take for themselves, fucking in their dressing room with only minutes to get out on stage, quick handjobs in linen closets when they were supposed to be in meetings. The thrill of  _ making _ time for themselves whether anyone else liked it or not. 

All of it’s gone now. They’re at home and they’ve got free schedules aside from things they plan themselves. Writing takes some time and seeing old friends is nice for a bit, but then they come back and just exist together. 

Which Harry couldn’t be more content with, for the record. Simply being in Louis’ presence is enough for him. For once he’s getting to enjoy the certainty of each moment, the guarantee of not having to rush or hide from anyone. 

But he isn’t worried about how  _ he _ feels. It’s more Louis that he frets over, if he’s getting everything out of the relationship he wants. From the emotional side, more specifically. He tells Harry nearly every day how satisfied he is in  _ other _ ways. 

“Are you happy?” He asks him after he’s got Louis all cuddled up on their couch, tired and lazy and full from their dinner. 

“Of course I am,” Louis says, “Why would you ask me that?” 

Hiding his insecurity with a jerky shrug, Harry reasons, “I was just wondering.” 

“You make me the happiest in the world, Haz. I wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the truth.” 

The way Louis reassures him is a complicated thing. It is comforting, but there’s always some sort of sharp counterargument, some alternative that Harry prays he’ll never have to experience. He knows Louis’ happy  _ now _ , but he doesn’t want that to change. Because then he’d leave, he’d said. Harry wants to  _ keep _ him happy. 

Louis always assures him that he’ll be here when things are  _ good _ . Harry wants a guarantee that he won’t run the minute things aren’t perfect, when they disagree or fight about something like they do sometimes. 

He kisses him languidly, a handful of his hip in one hand, trying to communicate what he’s thinking. 

“Want you happy always,” he tells him when they part, thumb stroking his bottom lip. 

“I’ll tell you if I’m ever not, but I really don’t think you have much to worry about, yeah?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agrees. 

That answer helped him feel a bit better than the one before. Now there’s just the pressure to follow through. To be enough. 

Eyes heavy from doing nothing all day, he cradles Louis in his arms and rests his chin on top of his head. The background noise of the television is loud, but all he can hear is the steady beat of Louis’ heart. Harry can hear his mother’s words in his head - _ don’t trouble trouble until trouble troubles you _ . 

They’ll be okay. They have to be. 

+

“Do you want to come?” Harry asks, hips swiveling until they reach the deepest parts of Louis’ body. 

“Yes - yeah,” Louis babbles. 

He’s laid out comfortably with the pillows around him on their bed with Harry on top of him, usually their favorite position, but tonight Harry’s curious. 

Swiftly pulling out of him, Harry collapses onto his side before rolling over, his back propped up against the cool side of the pillows. He grabs Louis’ pouty face by his chin and squeezes until his lips are pursed. Smirking at him, he moves his eyes from him to his own lap and waits for Louis to piece it together. 

“You’re going to have to work for it, darling.” 

“Daddy,” he whines. 

“Hush.” 

He goes silent when Harry lands a firm smack to the side of his arse, clambering over to situate himself on top. Letting his hands stay flat on the sheets, he watches Louis try to figure it out. 

This is going to be interesting, he thinks, because they’ve never done it quite like this before. Not where Louis has to do  _ all _ of the work, anyway. Even when he’s on top Harry usually ends up holding him to his chest, rutting into him roughly while he lies there and takes it. 

Not today. He’d meant it when he’d told him he’d have to work for it. Louis’ going to ride him until both of them come whether he likes it or not, no matter how much his pink bottom lip juts out prettily. 

Harry stares at it as Louis throws a leg over his hips, sitting up on his knees. For a split second he looks up at Harry hesitantly. Mouth opening to ask him his color, he doesn’t get a chance when his face morphs from insecure to determined and he lines Harry’s cock up again at his fucked-open entrance. 

Louis gives himself a moment to readjust, rotating his hips experimentally to find the right rhythm. Despite the slightly awkward pattern, Harry has to swallow back the groan of satisfaction threatening to leave his mouth. Louis doesn’t get that praise - not just yet. 

When it’s obvious he’s comfortable but still moving in slow motion, Harry tuts his tongue at him with lazy eyes. 

“Any day now, love.” 

It serves its purpose. Louis’ gaze narrows down at him as he begins to really get into it. He braces his dainty hands on Harry’s broad shoulders and sets to work, his smooth skin moving back and forth over Harry’s hips and the tops of his thighs. 

Every muscle in his body is begging him to grab Louis by the hips, plant his feet on the bed and  _ take _ but he resists. It’s just another thing that reminds him that Louis has all of the power here. 

So he relaxes as best he can, clenched fists hidden underneath his sides so Louis won’t see the automatic reaction. Small hips move quickly over his a few more times before Louis lifts off completely until just the tip of Harry is resting inside of him. 

Then, he drops back down in one go. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” they moan at the same time. 

Harry folds his lips shut, biting the skin on the inside of his cheek.  _ Fuck _ , he thinks. Louis begins to learn how to take it, bouncing slightly, trying to position himself in the correct spot. 

He leans back and braces his hands on Harry’s thighs, his chest burning bright red as he strains all over. Eventually his head is thrown back and Harry can’t see his eyes anymore. Not that he needs to in order to tell how he’s feeling. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” he chants, working faster now. 

Louis’ hands fly to his shoulders when he suddenly hunches forward, taking up Harry’s field of vision once again. Gritting his teeth, Harry holds his gaze until Louis submits. 

And he does so beautifully, yelping and landing face-first on Harry’s chest, desperately rutting himself along his flank so that he can get friction between their bodies on his prick while also rubbing Harry’s cock into his prostate. It’s got to be overwhelming for him, Harry thinks, from the way his eyes have rolled back and the small noises he probably isn’t even aware he’s making. 

Finally moving his hands, he holds Louis there, to his chest tightly. His grip doesn’t let up even as Louis loses the motion, even when he shakes and spasms and Harry feels hot come landing all over their stomachs. 

Louis sighs softly as he finishes and moves to get off of Harry. 

“Did I come?” Harry asks. 

He freezes. 

“No?” Louis whispers hoarsely, barely supporting his own weight. 

“What’s your color?” 

The question seems to make him think for a second, like he’s trying to determine the answer based on what he thinks Harry’s going to ask of him. _ Smart boy _ , Harry thinks. 

“Green,” he decides, licking his lips, “M’green.” 

Lacing his fingers through Louis’, Harry notes the way his hand shakes when he lifts it. He kisses his palm. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” Louis mewls, leaning into his touch. 

Harry takes it away as soon as he’d given in, slipping his arms back to his sides. Louis frowns as his hands fall back flat on his shoulders. 

“Make me come, then.” 

He’s tired, Harry can already tell. Louis moves more slowly than usual, blinking rapidly, confused but eager to please. Always eager to please. 

Seeming to make up his mind, he takes a deep breath that Harry feels resonate around his still-interested cock. It twitches inside of him at the notion of being remembered, of knowing he’s going to get his own release in spite of Louis’ lethargy. 

Harry knows he gets sensitive after an orgasm, it’s why this entire thing is all the more arousing. Louis goes lax anywhere he happens to be at the time, depending completely on Harry to hold him upright. His brain seems to have gone a bit fuzzy knowing that he isn’t going to get that relief immediately this time. 

So he offers him his hands to grab onto to steady himself as he sits up again, whimpering at the hard reminder underneath him. He’s going to need some motivation, Harry figures. 

“Can you feel me in there, baby?” He asks sweetly. “You got Daddy so hard. He loves being inside of you so much,” Harry coos. 

Louis preens and smiles tiredly at him, lazily beginning to move his hips again. His fingers clutch tightly to Harry’s larger, longer ones and he squeezes reassuringly. 

“But it felt too good, didn’t it, baby? You came before Daddy could do it  _ here _ ,” Harry punctuates with a harsh punch of his cock upward. 

It jolts Louis forward again, falling into Harry’s chest. He moans weakly and clenches around him. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Please, Daddy,” he whines. 

“What do you need, pet?” 

He strokes a hand down the back of his head, over his neck and down his spine until he reaches where they’re connected. 

“Help,” Louis whimpers pathetically. 

“You need Daddy’s help?” Harry repeats for emphasis, “Just can’t do it by yourself, can you,” he reasons with a sigh. 

Having no problem accepting it, Louis nods frantically in his neck, wiggling his arse for Harry to take. 

“That’s too bad, darling.”

Making a confused noise, Louis pulls back to look him in the eye. Close to tears already, he looks exactly how Harry imagined. He leans up to nose gently at his cheek, pecking it once and groaning at the angle. Harry sits up a bit more and readjusts them so they’re parallel and Louis can lean on him for support. 

“Take your time, pet, but Daddy said you were going to make him come, yeah? I know you can do it, baby.” 

A few minutes pass before he seems to regain his strength. Muscles crack in the silence as Louis braces himself on Harry’s broad shoulders and bites his lip, lifting slowly up and falling back down. 

Watching him figure out the quickest way to please them both is mesmerizing. Sweat drips off of his brow and down the side of his face and Harry wipes it with his thumb. He catches a few drops of Louis’ come as well from his stomach, then makes sure he’s watching when he sucks the liquid from his finger. 

Moaning weakly, Louis gives up on trying to lift upwards. He sits down fully and slides back and forth through the mess of wetness already under him. Harry knows his thighs and hole must be sore at this point but he doesn’t let up, riding him determinedly until Harry’s breath catches. 

“Good boy,” Harry can’t help but mutter. Louis lights up under the praise. 

Reaching down impulsively, he grabs Louis’ smaller cock and thumbs roughly over the head before pulling him off in fast strokes. He cries out and turns in on himself to get away from the sensitivity but, anchored to Harry’s cock, he can’t do much but take it. 

“You’re going to come again for me,” Harry growls in his ear. 

Half of the time when he says that Louis just looks back at him like  _ really? I am? _ But tonight he still seems content to do as Harry pleases without questioning. 

It doesn’t even seem to take a great deal of effort. Louis squeezes around him so tightly Harry’s throat closes up, hips lifting off of the sheets and consequently lifting Louis up into the air as he comes inside of him deeply. 

At the same moment, Louis collapses for the last time, spent as his prick dribbles barely over Harry’s abdomen. 

“So good,” he murmurs appreciatively, “Can’t believe you did that for me, you were so good, Louis.” 

“Good?” He questions softly, glancing up at Harry. 

“The best. Made Daddy come so hard, did so well for me, my best boy.” 

He makes quick work of pulling out and wiping them off, not giving anything else attention but Louis’ spent body and tired limbs. Still, when Harry’s finished, Louis glances up at him with a grin from the sheets, laid flat on his back. 

“What are you laughing at, silly boy?” 

“You,” Louis teases, poking him in the side with a toe as he climbs back in bed. 

“Me, huh?” 

Harry grabs him and hauls him into his space, fingers stabbing into his ticklish waist. Louis squeals and flails in an effort to get away. 

“S-stop,” he laughs, “I can’t, H, I can’t-” 

“You can’t laugh at me,” Harry insists, chasing him around the mattress. 

“Mercy,” Louis yells, “You win, you win.” 

Frowning, Harry crawls on top of him and looks him in the eye. 

“I didn’t want to win. You were supposed to be having fun.” 

“I have more fun when you aren’t torturing me,” he jabs. 

Raising a pointed brow at him, Harry smirks. Louis blushes prettily as he tries his best to roll away again. 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” he whines. “You know what I mean.” 

He follows Harry easily when he topples down to the sheets again, eyes never leaving his. Laying on their sides, Harry admires him openly. 

His thighs are still red from a thorough fucking, his pupils blown wide but slowly returning to their normal size. He’s still shaky when he lifts a hand to touch Harry’s cheek, his ragged breathing still noticeable through his bitten lips. 

He hadn’t gone under this time but Harry likes knowing that they can do both - sometimes Louis remembers every single moment and others Harry fucks him so good he can’t recall his own name. Both are equally amazing. 

Tonight he’s all smiles as he breathes deeply, the crinkly smile lines around his eyes growing with each inhale. Mirroring his expression, Harry raises a hand to smooth over them, tugging down on his lip until it bounces back out of his hold. 

Harry sort of wishes he had a camera. Then again, he likes moments like these. When it’s just them and absolutely no one else, and they’re safe and private and perfect. He feels like he and Louis are the only people in the entire world. No fame, no fakeness or publicity, just  _ them _ . 

“I think the leftover chinese is still in the fridge,” Louis whispers it like it’s a secret into the space between them. 

Laughing loudly, Harry kisses him hard until he’s struggling to get air in all over again. Then he goes to get the chinese leftovers from the fridge because he  _ knows _ Louis is too lazy to do it. 

“Thank you,” he yells weakly at Harry from the bedroom, smiling at his victory. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mutters, “You just use me for food.” 

Mocking offense, Louis slaps a hand over his chest and lets his mouth fall open. Harry walks backward until he can’t see him anymore, then runs down the stairs to the kitchen. Shuffling through the shelves and the silverware, he grabs the boxes and two forks before heating them and heading back up. 

“Ooh, good. You brought the fried rice too,” he makes grabby hands at it when Harry gets back into the room. 

Shoving the door shut with his foot, he hands Louis one of the boxes and sits back on his side with his own. 

“Of course I brought the fried rice,” he scoffs. 

Even inside of his own house, Harry’s still getting used to the feeling of being able to do whatever he wants. Not just because of the hiatus, but with Louis as well. A thousand times he’s done this kind of thing with him in the past when they were friends, late nights with leftovers talking about everything and nothing and getting yelled at for sleeping in too late the next morning. Only this time they aren’t just friends and they  _ both _ know it. 

Louis’ got noodles on his face in the shape of a smiley-face when he glances over. Harry repeats the look with his own food without a thought. 

And they look like freaks, Harry knows because he catches sight of them in the mirror to the side when he shifts, but he couldn’t care less. Now, he gets to have everything he used to have and more. It still hasn’t settled in him that he’s quite literally living his dream right now. 

“How did I get so lucky?” He wonders aloud, watching the carefree grin soften on Louis’ noodle-clad cheeks. 

Harry leans forward and eats it off of him, slurping theatrically and licking a stripe up the side of his cheek afterward. Laughing and grimacing simultaneously, Louis scrubs at the spot before eating Harry’s noodles off as payback. 

Just as he’s moving back to his own spot, Harry grabs him by the chin and presses their lips together. It tastes like fried rice, noodles, and just a hint of his natural sweetness. He smiles around the mouthful of chinese and kisses Louis regardless. 

+

A few nights later, Harry wakes up to sweat-soaked sheets and a whimpering Louis. He reaches over to flick the lamp on in a hurry, concerned he’s having some sort of nightmare. 

Then he feels his hard prick against his thigh and reconsiders. 

Sometimes when they were younger this would happen. At the X-Factor house in one of their beds, a few more times in their bunks on the bus. There was always an unspoken rule there. If one of them woke up to the other covered in their own cum, they weren’t to say a word. It happens, they’d assumed. They’d been teenagers. 

This time it’s different. This time Louis isn’t just his platonic  _ mate _ . Also, back then, they usually woke up after the dream had already ended. Now, Louis seems right in the midst of it. 

He’s moving his hips unconsciously down onto Harry’s leg, little breaths leaving his open lips. His brows are furrowed in concentration like he’s chasing his release even though he isn’t conscious of what he’s doing. 

When he wakes up Harry wants to ask him what he’d been dreaming about. For now he guesses he’ll just have to watch and see how it plays out. 

Trying not to feel like a creep, he lies back and lets Louis do what he wants, writhing a bit more desperately against him now. Watching was a great plan - until his own cock expresses interest in the warm body less than an inch away from it. 

Louis’ warm forehead falls onto his shoulder when he shifts, hot breaths on his arm as he continues to work himself up. Harry thinks for a moment about touching him but shuts that idea down as soon as it comes up. 

Just because they do things when they’re awake does  _ not _ mean Harry has explicit consent to do anything when he’s asleep. Harry won’t break his trust. Still, it doesn’t stop him from imagining. 

He lets his hand wander down to his own cock as it hardens further underneath his touch, his imagination running wild. Instead of the awkward morning-afters from before, it opens up an interesting door inside of his head. 

In this fantasy of his, Louis would be dreaming just like he is now. It would start simply enough, Harry would wake up when he started to grind against his side. He’d press kisses to warm skin even though his eyes weren’t open, blissfully unaware somewhere in whatever’s going on behind his eyelids. 

Harry would slide his pants down gently (if he was even wearing any in the first place) and roll him onto his side until they’re spooning. He’d be all soft and pretty in the low light of the lamp. His face would scrunch up cutely and his little hands would grab for the sheets as Harry pushed up into him lazily. 

He’d work his hips into Louis slowly and hold him close in the middle of the night. Everything would be slightly hazy, he’s sure, and he’d have to blink hard against even the lamp light behind them. 

Jerking himself off underneath the covers, Harry thinks about how he would fuck Louis awake. He wouldn’t know what was happening at first, small whimpers falling from his lips until he turned to find Harry already inside of him, both of them already close to the edge. 

It wouldn’t end up taking much to come, not with all of the build up beforehand. Harry would cradle his prick in his hand and coo gently into his ear words of encouragement until he released, Harry coming deeply inside of him. 

In this fantasy, he wouldn’t pull out. He’d kiss Louis’ cheek sleepily and stay tucked inside as they fell back asleep. Louis would sigh and snuggle back into his embrace, the only evidence of their coupling small droplets of sweat on his hairline and where they’re still connected below the waist underneath the sheets. 

In real life, Harry comes hard and abruptly into his palm, trying to bite back the groan in his throat. Just as he does, Louis stills against his thigh and his eyes flutter open. 

“‘arry?” He rasps softly. 

“M’right here,” he comforts, hoping Louis hasn’t caught on, trying to stabilize his breathing. 

He looks around, disoriented, and then his eyes fall to his own erection. 

“I’m hard,” he notes, voice thick with sleep. 

“You are. Want me to take care of you?” 

Louis nods against his shoulder gratefully and relaxes again, letting Harry get a hand around him with the same one he used to touch himself moments ago. He whimpers and keens in the quiet room, then comes between their stomachs not too long afterward, having already been close from his dream. 

“Thank you,” he sighs. 

“Go back to sleep,” Harry kisses him, “I’ll clean us up.” 

His eyes are shut again before Harry even finishes speaking. He stands and grabs a wet rag from the ensuite and wipes them both off before throwing it in the bin and getting back under the covers in record time. 

He’s a bit ashamed of himself, to be honest. Now that he’s gotten off, the idea of watching Louis while he sleeps seems sort of weird. Not bad, necessarily, but weird. It leaves a heavy weight of possibility in the bottom of his stomach that could end up going either way. 

He’ll talk to Louis about it in the morning. Probably. 

+

Instead of talking about it, Harry stuffs his face full of cereal and avoids all eye contact over breakfast. 

He knows it isn’t healthy. He’s made it abundantly clear to Louis that whatever kink he may want to try they’d give it a shot and he knows Louis wouldn’t make fun of him for it. Harry isn’t worried about being made fun of. He’s worried more about making him  _ angry _ . 

It’s more than he could have ever asked for to have Louis in the ways he does now, when he’s vulnerable and open and himself. He gets touchy at the slightest mention of being so open. He’d be pushing it dangerously close if he asked to have him that way in his sleep, when he’s  _ most _ vulnerable. 

Harry supposes that’s what really does it for him. That Louis would trust him enough to take care of him properly even when he isn’t fully there to understand it. It’s not as if Harry wants to take him against his will, not  _ ever _ , he reconciles, but there is something decidedly captivating about the idea of seeing him so defenceless, so trusting. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Louis snaps across from him, milk dripping down his chin from his own mouthful of cereal. 

“Yes.” 

Louis’ spoon drops back to his bowl with a clang, his face blank as he tilts his head at Harry, “What did I just say?” 

“You love me?” Harry asks, voice raising hopefully toward the end but cheeks coloring at being caught. 

“No, you big oaf,” he scoffs. 

“Hey,” Harry whines. 

“I love you. Now what had you thinking so hard you ignored me? I was trying to tell you about a dog I saw the other day and you always like those stories.” 

“I wasn’t-” Harry begins lamely, half-hearted denials on the tip of his tongue. 

“Harry,” Louis says deeply, raising his eyebrows. “What is it?” 

He knows him too well. Suddenly he feels like Louis probably feels when they have these conversations, laid out in the open for the other to interpret. It’s terrifying. Harry has newfound respect for him. 

Louis abandons his bowl and rounds the table with a sigh when he doesn’t say anything, scooting Harry’s chair out so he can slide directly onto his lap, a leg thrown over either side. 

“Hazza, what is it?” He asks softer, fingernails gliding through Harry’s hair. 

“I may - I may want to add something to the list.” 

The list has become more of a metaphorical thing now, something they use to bring up new ideas they have. Harry still writes things down on it sometimes but right now he’s using it more as a security blanket than anything else. He swallows roughly as Louis’ fingers falter before speaking again. 

“Okay,” he drawls. “That’s fine. It  _ is _ for both of us, you know.” 

Louis chuckles, smiling at him, but quickly stops when he realizes Harry isn’t laughing. His brows pull together confusedly. 

“Harry, you’ve always made me feel perfectly normal every time I think you’re going to tell me I’m a freak for something I want to try.” 

“Never,” Harry shakes his head, hiding safely in Louis’ neck. 

“See? There’s nothing you could say that I won’t at least  _ try _ with you. Everything we’ve done so far has been really, really good, yeah?” 

Licking his lips, Harry bites it once and tries to work up the courage as he nods imperceptibly with his eyes shut. 

“I want, uhm, I think I’d like to try maybe-” he stutters. 

“You can tell me, love,” Louis coos. 

“Sleep,” Harry mutters. “But, wait - I mean like, not  _ sleeping _ . We already do that. I want to -”

“Somnophilia?” Louis suggests helpfully. “You wanna fuck me while I’m asleep?” 

Harry’s head flies back to look him in the eye, surprised that he knew the proper name. Harry’d had to delve deep into the dark side of the internet to get that information when he’d looked late last night after he couldn’t fall back asleep for more than a few minutes at a time. It’d been comforting to know there were other people out there that liked it, too. Does this mean there’s a possibility Louis looked it up for the same purpose? 

“You’re not the only one that can do research,” Louis jests, rolling his eyes lightly. “That’s fine, Harry.” 

“Wha - really?” 

“Yes. What would make you think that was such a big deal to me?” 

“Well, it’s a bit  _ more _ than what we usually do, I think,” he tries to choose his words carefully. “I was afraid that you would think it was like, creepy or something.” 

A sweet smile spreads slowly over Louis’ face. 

“Harry,” he breathes, “you let me call you Daddy. You don’t flinch when I ask you to push me around or spank me or whatever I happen to be in the mood for that night. You said you’d consider getting into  _ piss _ if I wanted to, you big idiot.” 

He laughs brightly, kissing Harry’s open lips. 

“I think this is fairly tame. And I certainly don’t think you’re a freak,” he mutters. “In fact, I think I quite like the idea of being woken up and not knowing what’s happening. Like the only thing I’m sure of is you inside of me.” 

Harry ignores the twinge of arousal that stirs in his abdomen at his deepened tone in favor of smiling wryly. The stress melts off of his shoulders in one smooth movement, arms coming up to hug Louis tightly to him. 

“I love you,” he tells Louis. 

“I love you, too, Hazza. Always.” 

Harry takes his lips simply to avoid his intense gaze, cupping his cheeks and trying to convey how grateful he is with his tongue. Louis indulges him for a minute before pushing back on his chest. 

“Hey, but really,” he says seriously, “if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. You’ll have to wait for me to have a dream like last night and we’ll go from there. I think it’ll be better if it happens naturally, yeah? Don’t wanna fake anything.” 

If Harry isn’t mistaken, Louis’ own voice sounds more airy, more like when he’s turned on. Already worked up from just the idea, Harry nods so fast his vision goes blurry. Louis giggles again at his excitement, promptly sliding off of his lap to kneel between his thighs. 

He comes in minutes, picturing a soft, writhing, sleepy Louis inside of his head. For now, he’ll just have to take what he can get and  _ wait _ . 

+

A week passes. Louis doesn’t have another dream. He sleeps peacefully next to Harry, his body still and breathing calm. Harry listens intently - his heart rate doesn’t pick up once. 

He knows that Louis’d said it was okay, but he can’t help but feel like this is some sort of subconscious refusal of his body to cooperate. Like Louis secretly  _ doesn’t _ want that and this is his indirect way of saying no. 

Harry still has hope. He tugs Louis tight to him each night and strokes his hair back from his head while he sleeps, staring at the slowly rotating ceiling fan for hours. 

+

Harry’s got a strict no-sex rule when they’re fighting. He’d put it in place originally so that Louis wouldn’t attempt to try and fix things with taking his clothes off. Sex with him is amazing, Harry knows it firsthand, but that’s a line he doesn’t want to blur. He shouldn’t ever feel like he’s got to give him his body to make up for anything or because he feels like he owes it to him. 

The downside to this is that  _ Harry _ can’t initiate sex either if they’re angry. It’s never been an issue in the past. He’s usually far too caught up in wondering how he can make up for whatever he’s done to think about getting him naked but right now he can’t seem to get it off of his mind. 

He wants to push Louis up against their wall in the tight hallway and take him without remorse, spit dirty words in his ear as he tries to get away, while he bites Harry’s hand over his mouth and completely forgets about why they’d been fighting in the first place. 

Yeah, heavy stuff. He’s never had to try to hide his hard-on while they were in the middle of yelling. The feeling is -  _ interesting _ . 

“I can’t believe you would even suggest something like that, Harry. I mean, honestly, does that sound like something I would do?” 

“In the past,” he hums, “yeah. It does.” 

“Well we aren’t in the past anymore,” Louis yells dramatically, hands thrown in the air as he gesticulates. 

Most of the time they fight because of something Louis did. This time, Harry knows it’s all him. It’s just - he’s been struggling lately with getting a bit too territorial. He doesn’t mean to, really, but when Louis goes and does interviews and signings and he sees videos of people kissing him too close to his mouth to be publicly appropriate or hugging him with their hands on the curve of his arse, it sets him off a bit more than it should. 

He thinks it’s because being in an actual relationship is slightly different than what they’d been doing before. The carnal, old-fashioned part of his brain wants Louis near him always, safe away from anyone who could steal him now that he has the -  _ tentative _ \- boyfriend label to disguise it as. 

Also he’s been burned a few too many times in the past by Louis’ wandering eye. 

But he’s right. This isn’t the past anymore. Harry’s got a committed man standing in front of him now, his heart on his sleeve, and his hand discreetly covering the front of his trousers. 

“Honestly,” Louis repeats, scoffing, eyes to the ceiling before falling back on him, “how could you-” he freezes, his gaze falling lower, “are you - are you  _ hard  _ right now?” 

“No,” Harry lies blatantly, trying to cross his legs despite the slight pain. 

“You’re hard right now,” Louis deadpans. 

He crosses the distance between where he’d been pacing and the table Harry’s sitting behind, leaning up against the side of it next to him. Louis runs a finger along his arm that’s resting on the table. 

“What did it for you then,” he asks conversationally. 

“What?” Harry squawks, “No, Louis, I’m fully invested in -” 

“It’s fine, Harry. I’m tired of yelling anyway, you stupid jealous numpty.” 

“But -” 

“ _ Harry _ .” Louis says, “I’m not angry anymore. But for the sake of how much it’s getting you off,” he trails suggestively, raising a brow. 

Moving in closer, he leans forward to kiss Harry’s neck wetly. His lips hover above his rocketing pulse, leaning his head to the side so he can take what he wants. Now Harry’s just confused. 

His hot breath hits Harry’s skin in an exhale. It raises goosebumps, leaves the area moist from the humidity. Without rushing, he takes Harry’s ear lobe between his teeth and bites down teasingly. 

“I’m really angry with you,” he seethes quietly into his ear. 

The words are devoid of any actual malice but Harry can still see the distinct line in his head that he doesn’t want to blur. 

“You promise we’re okay?” Harry double-checks in a whisper. 

At Louis’ nod, he soars up to seal their lips together like he’s been wanting to for ages now. It must take him by surprise because he falls back into the table with a gasp when Harry stands up to tower over him again. 

“Surely you were imagining something,” Louis drawls, still confident in himself, “some fantasy about me while I was trying to tell you how I felt. You weren’t even paying attention.” 

Harry growls lowly in his throat but doesn’t say anything, lips attached to the vibrating column of Louis’ own neck when he speaks. 

“You tell me no sex when we’re angry and yet you’re sitting there harder than ever when I’m trying to be serious.” 

“Shut up,” Harry says. 

“That’s not very fair of you,” Louis frowns, ignoring him, “I thought this was a two-way street.” 

“Shut.  _ Up _ ,” he punctuates, nipping at Louis’ collarbones harshly. 

“Make me,” he breathes. 

Within seconds he’s grabbing both of Louis’ wrists in his own and walking them backward, toward the bedroom. Just before they get there, he stops in the hallway, revelling in the way Louis seems slightly thrown-off. 

“Wha-” 

“I’m going to fuck you here.” 

Louis gasps again when Harry shoves his pants down and throws them to the side, pushing his body back into the wall with a thud. His shirt is ripped over his head next, discarded with everything else. Harry will deal with it later. 

He takes Louis’ lips again roughly, reaching a hand between them to undo his own zipper and get his aching cock out of the constricting material. Louis is still prepped from the night before when he’d been thoroughly fingered through about five orgasms straight, but Harry sticks a finger in his mouth anyway. 

“Suck,” he says. 

Soft tongue swirling around his long digit, Louis’ eyes fall shut and his head goes to rest against the wall behind him. The lights are off in the hallway just enough to feel scandalous, enough to see the outline of Louis’ mouth but not enough for the saliva he can feel dripping steadily down the side of his hand to be visible. 

When two of his fingers are wet enough, he slips them from Louis’ mouth with a pop and shoves two of them inside of him without much warning. Still standing, his short legs bend at the knee, reeling from the intrusion. 

“Oh, Harry -” 

“Shut up,” Harry growls again, “If you’re going to open that big mouth of yours at least call me by the right  _ fucking _ name.” 

“Daddy,” Louis moans. 

Harry grabs his chin with his other hand, leaning down to position his lips in front of Louis’ still-open mouth. 

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he mutters flatly. 

It takes them two tries to get him securely settled onto Harry’s hips, small fingernails digging into his shoulders. He’d never  _ dream _ of dropping Louis, even with all the faux anger running thick through his veins. 

“You think you’re the only one that gets insecure?” Harry asks him, “You think you get to be the only one that needs reassurance?” 

He positions his cock at Louis’ entrance once his fingers have relocated to hold him up. Harry holds his gaze, a breath away from having Louis impaled on his cock. 

“ _ Too fucking bad _ ,” he snarls in his face, pushing into him in one smooth thrust. 

Luckily there aren’t any pictures hanging on the wall because Harry’s sure they’d be falling down with the force of his hips. He’s shoving Louis into it punishingly, the dull echo of his back against it sweet music to his ears. 

His fingers flex experimentally where they’re still gripping Louis’ jaw. He runs a thumb gently over his bottom lip until Louis whines questioningly at the gesture, and then he grips even harder and spits into his mouth until a thick string of his saliva keeps them connected. 

“Oh, oh, oh,” Louis’ swallows it willingly, moaning, alternating between burying his face in Harry’s neck and throwing it back against the wall, wetness falling from his lips down his chin. 

They’re moving so fast Harry can’t focus on him. He can feel him, though. Everywhere. Some sick part of his mind is enjoying this way more than he should. Harry’s fully dressed but Louis is completely naked in his arms. He’s depending solely on Harry. 

It’s a far stretch of his imagination, but for a moment Harry pictures Liam or Niall using their emergency keys to come into their flat and catching them like this. It wouldn’t be embarrassing for Harry, it would be embarrassing for  _ Louis _ . He’d just have to trust Harry not to let that happen. 

“You think anyone else could fuck you like this?” He asks, desperate for confirmation. 

“Daddy,” he mewls, clawing his skin as Harry forces him further up the wall. 

“ _ Tell me _ , Louis,” he grunts, “can anyone else make you come like I can? Can they fuck you until you’re shaking and can’t remember your own fucking name, hmm?” 

“No,” Louis yells, “no. Just you. Only you, Harry.” 

Harry feels lighter now. Just enough to reach down and wrap a hand around Louis’ smaller prick, thumb over him filthily the way he likes. He chokes on his noises, mouth open as tears spring to the corners of his eyes. 

“Oh,” he whimpers again. 

“Are you going to come for me?” 

“If - if you want me to, Daddy,” he cries. 

_ Good answer _ . Harry decides to draw it out a little longer. He tongues into Louis’ willing mouth while he sits there and lets Harry take what he wants, essentially useless but just as lovely as he’s ever been. 

When he feels like he could come, Harry moves until his forearms are resting completely against the wall next to Louis’ head, the only thing holding Louis up the closeness and how hard he’s pressed between Harry’s body and the house. The only thing holding him up is Harry’s  _ cock _ . 

“Harry,” he gasps. 

“I’ve got you. Never let you fall,” Harry babbles, still kissing him. 

He slaps a hand over Louis’ mouth purely for the thrill of it, spiraling at the thought of keeping him gagged. All of his moans fall into his palm, sweet and breathy and just for him. The hand on Louis’ prick speeds up with his own thrusts, knocking their foreheads together but unwilling to part from him too far. 

“Now, Louis,” he tells him, “Come now.” 

Taking his own advice, Harry pushes up into him twice more before stilling, willing his legs not to give out with the force of his orgasm. It shakes him, his arms coming down hard onto Louis’ own to keep him upright even if Harry goes down. 

Eventually, still tucked neatly inside of Louis’ quivering form, he carries him the rest of the way to the bedroom and lays them down. It takes them minutes to catch their breath. 

“Daddy,” Louis cries softly, clenching around him. 

“Right here, pet. Daddy’s right here.” 

He strokes a hand through his sweat-soaked hair to calm him down. His bones ache but he refuses to leave the space between Louis’ open legs. Not until he’s comfortable again. 

“So good for me,” he murmurs, “could never be angry with you. Thank you for not being angry with me.” 

“Sorry,” Louis’ lip trembles. 

“Don’t be sorry, little one. I acted like a caveman,” Harry chuckles, grateful, overwhelmed tears of his own blurring his vision as he looks down at him, “you had every right to be cross with me.” 

Louis shakes his head stubbornly, “Like it when you’re protective. Like to know you get that way, too,” he whispers. 

“You’re it for me,” Harry tells him. “You don’t ever have to worry about that.” 

Louis’ hand is still shaking when it raises to cup Harry’s cheek. 

“Same with me,” he rasps, a sweet smile on his lips. 

Harry kisses him until his lips go numb, and then some more after that. 

He’d had a rule not to do this. He’d thought it would only make things more complicated and teach them to bottle up their emotions for another time like it was some form of intense, sweaty procrastination. Instead, everything he’d been feeling, the things he was deliberately hiding before, had tumbled right out of his lips as soon as he’d gotten inside of him. 

The way that Louis used to use sex as a distraction wasn’t healthy. But this seemed okay, healthy, even. It felt raw, like Harry’d laid everything out on the table instead of feeling too choked up the way he thought he might. 

He presses butterfly kisses to Louis’ cheek and grins when he giggles. Right now he’s still out of it, blinking owlishly and squeezing random parts of Harry’s body like he’s making sure he’s still here. Someday Harry wants to ask him what that feels like. 

Slowly, he turns them onto their sides so they can rest until Louis comes back to him fully. He watches his eyes flutter, drifting beautifully off to somewhere Harry can’t follow him. He stays behind willingly, letting the stress dissolve from his tense, high-strung body, arms wrapped tightly around his frame. He’s never felt luckier. 

+

The excitement he’d felt about getting into their bed at night has started to fade after two more weeks of no dreams from Louis. Harry loses sleep each night just in case, staying up to make sure he doesn’t miss a thing. It’s more difficult to give up the idea than he thought. He focuses on pleasing Louis while they’re awake instead, ignoring the hazy filter of tiredness in his brain. 

He’s beginning to think that Louis’ idea to wait for something to happen naturally was just a nice way of letting him down gently. 

He just doesn’t know why he  _ wants _ it so bad. He tries not to let the disappointment show when he wakes up in the morning fully clothed and not buried deeply, sleepily inside of Louis. 

+

Harry gets his haircut on a Tuesday. It hadn’t been something he was nervous about at first; it’d seemed like a good idea to mark off the new era they’re about to enter into. When he was actually sat in the chair waiting for it to happen, however, he found himself wishing he had Louis’ hand to hold for support. 

Louis, who’s probably going to kill him for this. A last minute risky decision he’d made impulsively to try and separate himself from the past few years. He definitely looks different, he thinks, leaning over the bathroom counter to get a better look at it in the mirror. 

His jawline is more pronounced now, for one. The bit of stubble he’s got there seems darker with his neck on full display and his ears seem smaller for some reason. Harry squints at himself, parting it different ways to decide if he likes it. 

“H?” Louis calls from downstairs. 

Freezing as the front door slams shut, he waits anxiously for Louis to get to him. 

“In here,” he says. 

Walking quickly out of the bathroom, Harry darts across the hall to the study for the reveal. He’s trying to decide whether to sit or stand when Louis pushes the door open. 

“I’m so glad to be home,” he starts, eyes on the doorknob, “You wouldn’t believe -” 

Harry’s standing, then. He clears his throat. 

“You like?” 

Louis’ face is unreadable, his mouth dropped open and his brows raised. Maybe he shouldn’t have cut it. If Louis thinks he looks awful he could always just grow it out again. New era aside, Louis  _ has _ to like it. 

“Lou?” Harry pushes. 

“Your - your hair,” he whines. “It’s gone.” 

“I can grow it back out, I know it’s pretty different from before. Do you like it?” 

He crosses the room to Harry, a careful hand on his arm. 

“Do  _ you _ like it, Harry?” 

“Uhm,” he hesitates, “I think so, yeah.” 

“Well that’s what matters,” Louis says. 

Rolling his eyes lightly, Harry scoffs and pulls him in for a proper hug. With Louis’ face squashed into his chest, he rephrases the question. 

“I know that. But I wanted to know if  _ you _ liked it.” 

“It’s different,” Louis concedes, “but I do like it. I just wish I could’ve said goodbye first.” 

“To my hair?” Harry laughs. 

“Yes, duh. I loved your hair, you know that. But I love this cut, too,” he rushes to add, looking up at Harry. 

“Really? You do?” 

“Yeah. Makes you look more… sharp.” 

“Sharp?” Harry tilts his head with a smirk. “Tell me more.” 

Pulling on his arm, he guides Louis behind the desk so he can lean his hip against it and boxes him in with his arms. 

“Pushy,” he laughs, swatting at Harry’s chest. “I mean you look more -  _ rugged _ this way. Like some hot-shot business man.” 

“Mm,” Harry hums. 

“You know - like, like a sugar daddy,” Louis giggles. 

Growling playfully at him, he loosens an imaginary tie around his neck and stands up straighter. 

“I think we can make some of that happen,” he whispers in Louis’ ear suggestively. 

“Wha -  _ now _ ?” 

He’d been laughing a few seconds ago but he stands there newly serious, pushed up against the desk, just breathless enough to let Harry know he might be onto something. 

Harry nods, patting his hip twice. “Stay here. Don’t move.” 

He jogs up the extra set of stairs to their bedroom, heading straight for the sprawling closet in the far corner. Each of his suits are hanging up in a neat line in the proper section, organized by color and material. Harry takes fashion very seriously. 

Thumbing through his options, he settles on the one against the far wall, a simple black and white piece he rarely wears. It’s not as fashionable as the others but it fits the best with the situation. He smirks as he grabs a tie and some lube from the top drawer of their dresser and heads back down the stairs. 

Roleplay sounds dirty when Harry considers it inside of his brain. It wasn’t on the list of things either of them had been particularly interested in but he thinks this could be an interesting change from the usual. 

He rounds the corner into the room just as he’s finished doing up the tie, Louis’ eyes snapping up in greeting, straightening himself against the opposite side of the desk. He’s moved. 

“I see you can’t follow simple orders,” Harry says flatly, purposely leaving any emotion from his tone. 

It isn’t easy to miss the way Louis’ throat works as he swallows roughly, legs shifting restlessly where they’re holding him up. He  _ likes _ this, then. 

Harry approaches him from the side calmly. 

“Is this okay?” He checks, using his regular voice. 

“Yes,” Louis nods. 

With that out of the way, Harry takes a large step backward, raising a brow impatiently. 

“I don’t recall telling you to stand there.” 

Louis scrambles back around to the other side of the desk, facing the chair that’s pushed out behind it. Harry takes a moment to admire the curve of his arse resting on the surface before walking around to stand in front of him. 

“Still not good enough,” he tuts. 

Blue eyes snap up to meet his, confused. In one motion he takes Louis by the shoulders and flips him around until he’s got his hands flat on the wooden surface, his backside pressing deliciously into Harry’s budding erection. 

“Better,” he breathes out harshly. 

“Harry,” Louis starts, already fidgeting in his arms. 

“Quiet,” Harry snaps. “Daddy works hard to provide for you, Louis. Those dinners you like, that new shirt hanging up in the closet,” he bites down on his ear lobe, “And you come into my office wanting to act ungrateful. What am I going to do with you?” 

“I - I don’t know, Mr. Styles,” he says quietly. 

Okay - Harry was definitely expecting  _ Daddy _ instead of  _ Mr. Styles _ but he can work with this. When he glances down and his black suit trousers are already obscenely tented at the front, he decides he can  _ really _ work with it. 

“I could spank you,” he reasons, “but you always like that too much. Don’t think you deserve it right now.” 

Louis whines high in his throat, pushing his arse back even further. 

“Maybe I’ll just tie you up and fuck your pretty little arse right here over my desk,” Harry growls. “Would you like that, Louis?” 

He groans in response, falling forward onto the desk. It’s nice, but that’s not quite what he wants him to do yet. Reaching a hand down to grab Louis around the throat, he hauls him back up until his back is to Harry’s chest, Harry’s hot breath over his ear. 

“I  _ said _ \- would you like that, Louis?” 

“Yes, yes,” he gasps. “Please, want that.” 

Harry releases him abruptly. It takes him a few seconds to right himself, steadying his weight between Harry’s body and the wood. 

The tie he’d just put on is the first item of clothing to leave his body, and it will most likely be the only one. He wants Louis completely at his mercy underneath him, stark naked while he’s entirely dressed. Harry doesn’t know if he’ll ever fully understand the things that get him off. 

At least they get Louis off as well, he supposes. He’s already panting when Harry slips his thin tee shirt off him, waiting eagerly for Harry’s next move. 

Once it’s completely off from around his neck, Harry puts his arms around Louis’ smaller shoulders to grab both of his wrists, tying an expert knot around them to hold them together in front of his stomach. His research over the last couple of years has paid off. 

“Too tight?” He checks, sticking a finger in between his wrists to test it. 

Louis wiggles them around a bit and shakes his head. Harry takes his throat in his hand again and yanks his head up until they’re eye-to-eye. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you.” 

“S’not too tight,” he rushes. “Sir.” 

“Good boy,” Harry appeases, releasing him to stroke a finger over his colored cheek. 

His pants come off next, Louis shivering as the air hits his legs and the rough jeans pool at his soft ankles. Harry bends down to get them off properly, caressing his smooth legs. Sparingly, he presses several kisses to the skin at the back of his thighs. 

Sneaking a fingertip underneath the band of his boxers, he pets the bottom of Louis’ arse softly until his breathing calms to almost normal. Then Harry pulls them off altogether and discards them with his other clothes, his face even with the exposed globes of flesh he’s grown so familiar with. 

He recalls the thorough shower they’d taken together last night and spreads him open with both hands. Without giving Louis time to realize what’s about to happen, he’s lapping at his hole lewdly without restraint. 

“Mr. Styles,” Louis groans, leaning hard on his elbows as his head drops limply between his shoulder blades. 

He’s licking Louis like he had the ice cream cone they’d gotten the other day, purposely not giving Louis any sort of internal friction. He stays outside of him, licking broad stripes over and over again. Above him, Louis whines frustratedly. 

“What is it, Louis?” Harry pulls back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Seeming embarrassed at being called out, he shrinks under Harry’s gaze, unwilling to answer the question. Harry squeezes a handful of his arse harshly until he talks. 

“I - I want,” he stutters. 

“What do you want? Tell me, baby.” 

“Want - inside,” he admits quietly, blushing. 

Standing to his full height, Harry leans over his bowed back until their faces are close again. He nudges Louis’ cheek with his nose. 

“You want me inside of you, is that it?” He asks sarcastically, “I give, give, give, and you  _ still _ want more. Greedy boy.” 

“M’sorry, Mr. Styles.” 

Louis doesn’t sound an ounce sorry. He lands a jarring smack on the right side of his arse and watches as he jolts forward. 

“I’ll decide what I give you,” he murmurs. 

“Yes, sir,” Louis relents, head dropping down once again. 

Grabbing the lube from his pocket, he gets a generous amount on his fingers and rubs it teasingly over Louis’ fluttering rim. He’s almost wet enough just from Harry’s mouth but he wants to be sure. If all goes according to plan, this will be  _ rough _ . 

“Give me your hands,” Harry grunts, an idea popping into his head. 

Louis uses most of his strength to stand up again, letting Harry reach around to untie his wrists. He makes a small, confused noise and Harry shushes him. He pushes Louis back down onto the desk by his shoulder and re-ties his hands behind his back this time. 

“Oh,” Louis whispers into the wood. 

“Still good?” Harry tugs on the bindings. 

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” 

Setting back to work, he lubes up his fingers again and doesn’t waste any time getting them inside of him. Once he’s got two in, scissoring back and forth and touching his prostate fleetingly, Harry catches his attention. 

“Is this what you wanted? I’m inside of you, Louis.” 

He flexes his digits again to confirm it, Louis gasping at the direct stimulation. Something he says gets muffled while he’s face-down on the desk. 

“What was that?” 

“No,” he whimpers, turning his head to the side to get the words out. 

“Seriously? This still isn’t good enough for you?” 

Harry stabs his fingers inside at the right angle and keeps them there, petting Louis’ prostate relentlessly until he’s shaking, bent over. 

“Don’t you fucking come,” he warns, ripping them out of him again. 

All of the motions seem to give Louis whiplash, his body convulsing like he’s had an orgasm but still dry when Harry reaches around to palm at his prick. 

“Greedy thing,” he repeats to himself. 

Louis whines again but Harry doesn’t reprimand him, too busy pulling his cock out of his dress pants and lining himself up with Louis’ hole. He feels the tense of Louis’ back when he realizes what’s about to happen. 

“You ready for me, baby?” 

“Yes, sir. Please, please,  _ please _ -” 

His words are cut short as Harry slams into him roughly. He wastes little time between letting him adjust and forcing himself back in again, pounding as hard as he can with his hips. 

Earlier Louis’d been grasping the edge of the desk with his hands to steady himself but now he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Harry’s mouth waters when he glances down at the smooth expanse of his back, his bound wrists bouncing in time with his thrusts. 

When he grips Louis where his hips curve in, his thumbs meet in the middle of his back for how small the distance is across. For how small Louis is in  _ general _ . Still, he doesn’t let himself slow down enough to gawk. 

Despite his size, Louis takes him like he was born for it. His shoulders and face are pressed down hard into the surface of the desk, slamming back down when he tries to lift them up. 

Grunting, Harry grabs a small thigh and hikes it up until it’s on the desk too. Louis mewls loudly, little hands clenching into fists at the bottom of his back. Harry takes a moment to refocus on his own pleasure, sweat dripping from his forehead as he gazes at Louis’ body with hooded eyes. 

Usually he doesn’t much like taking him from behind. It’s always felt impersonal and Harry very much likes the people he’s inside of to feel  _ personal _ to him. Plus, he can always see Louis’ face that way, to know if he’s either uncomfortable or immensely pleased. 

He has to admit he’s beginning to see the appeal. In their bed he probably still wouldn’t like it much, but in here it seems  _ naughty _ . Harry imagines they really are in an office with people lingering outside the doors, where anyone could come in and see Louis getting fucked to tears by his Daddy or boss or whoever he wants him to be in the moment. 

From behind like this he’s able to see the curve of his back better, his dainty waist turning inward before his hips swell back out to fill Harry’s large hands. No matter what position, Louis is breathtaking. 

Harry works up a grating rhythm inside of him, pounding persistently until Louis begins to clench around him. He groans, falling over his back again. 

“This is what you wanted,” he grumbles, “Needed Daddy to fuck you nice and hard. Fuck you  _ good _ again.” 

While he’s blanketed over Louis’ back he can see the tears dripping onto the wood under his face, his shoulders bumping repeatedly onto the surface. Bracketed between Harry’s elbows, Louis shakes with the intensity. When he moans loudly Harry slaps a hand over his mouth, Louis drooling into it and panting. Harry plants a wet, reassuring kiss to the middle of his back and stands. 

His muscles smart at him from the intense movements but Harry ignores them in favor of grabbing tightly onto the tie around Louis’ wrists and aiming for his prostate a second time. He screams when Harry finds it. 

He holds to that spot until he can feel himself about to come, thighs tensing in prolonged anticipation. Tired from the exertion, he comes harder than he ever has inside of Louis and promptly collapses over his back, covering his body completely for the final time. 

Harry grinds messy circles into him despite the sensitivity, reaching a hand down to cradle Louis’ aching balls. He massages them with hard pressure, his grinding rubbing Louis’ leaking cock onto the rough surface of the desk below. 

It takes him less than a minute to come after that, shivering and fucked out beneath Harry’s weight. His fingers grasp onto his own skin blindly as he tries to regain his balance and sanity Harry’d fucked out of him minutes prior. 

“So,” Harry breathes, “Mr. Styles, huh?” 

“Shut up,” Louis struggles against his bindings, dark color rushing back into his cheeks as soon as it started to disappear. 

Chuckling, Harry strains to stand again and grabs for the tie wrapped tightly around his hands, landing one last smack to the side of his arse. Once he’s free he holds Louis’ limp body up to his chest and rubs over the skin it covered, kissing it softly. 

“That was good, yeah?” Harry double-checks. 

“Really good,” Louis hums. “Like it rough sometimes.” 

Harry notes the  _ sometimes _ and kisses his forehead lovingly. 

“Bubble bath?” 

“Bubble bath.” 

+

He’s given up on fucking Louis in his sleep. 

+

Harry’s trying frustratedly to write again when Louis disrupts him in the office a few days later, but he’s grateful for the distraction when the door opens slowly and a sleep-soft boy pads into the room. He hasn’t been able to get any words out in over an hour now on the document he’s got up anyway. 

Harry coos when he rubs over one eye with his closed fist, climbing onto his lap between him and the desk. 

“What are you doing, honey?” 

Saying nothing, Louis shifts around restlessly for a few seconds. Then he reaches down between them and undoes the button on Harry’s pants, pulling his soft cock out to rest against his palm. 

“You want me inside of you, pet?” 

Eyes still mostly closed and fresh from his nap, Louis nods minutely and leans into Harry’s chest to let him figure everything else out. His legs hang limply on either side of Harry’s thighs over the back of the chair. 

They’ve talked about this a few times now but Harry hadn’t been expecting it today. Harry figures it’s as close as he’s going to get to this whole sleep thing. 

It’s raining like it has been all night, the sky dark and rolling with quiet thunder outside the study window when Harry glances over. Louis’ been asleep on the sofa for most of the day. Once, when Harry’d gone downstairs to get something to eat, he’d covered him up with the blanket and kissed him on the forehead before coming back upstairs. 

Some of the noise from outside must’ve woken him up, he figures, because Louis seems a bit disgruntled and out of his element despite not having done much all day. Harry knows this isn’t him asking for sex. This is something else altogether. 

Harry pulls open the bottom drawer of the desk and pats a hand around until he feels the lube from the last time he’d fucked Louis bent over his desk. Coloring at the memory, he pours some onto his fingers and warms in between them before sliding a hand around Louis’ back to prod at his hole. 

He hasn’t been inside of him for a few days now so he’s tight, hissing at the burn of just one of Harry’s fingers. 

“Alright?” Harry asks. 

“Mmhm,” he hums, muffled in Harry’s shirt collar. 

Fingering him open with careful intent, he presses kisses to Louis’ hairline comfortingly each time he stretches him more. It’s hot in the room but neither of them are hard. It isn’t as odd as Harry thought it might be. After a few more minutes he slides his fingers out completely and wipes them on his own trousers. 

He’s just now realizing what Louis’ got on as his wrist touches the smooth silk. He had on one of Harry’s hoodies that fell to the tops of his thighs when he’d seen him on the couch earlier this morning, but now he can see what’s underneath. He slides the hoodie up and over Louis’ head to get a better look. 

“ _ Baby _ ,” Harry chokes. 

Louis whimpers questioningly up at him as his hands rub big circles onto the silk. He’s wearing a pale pink slip with lace trim lining the bottom, the color contrasting his skin amazingly. Harry’s mouth waters. 

“You look  _ so _ pretty,” he tells Louis. 

And he  _ does _ . Louis always looks perfect to him but this isn’t something he’s ever gotten to witness before. It springs all sorts of ideas into his head. He thinks for a moment, hands sliding up his smaller thighs, that he might be wearing panties, too. 

He isn’t. Not yet, anyway. But this may be better - he isn’t wearing anything at all underneath. 

It’s all too easy for Harry to lift him gently by his delicate hips, feed his cock into him like it was made to be there. Louis hums appreciatively at the motion, still not hard but obviously having gotten what he came here for. 

Harry’s had his cock in Louis’ mouth for hours at a time. It was incredible, but it was nothing compared to this. He feels so close to him now, like they’re more connected, which, obviously they are. Still, the room is heavy with something else Harry can’t quite put his finger on. 

He shushes Louis as he grumbles when Harry scoots back up to the desk to see his laptop again. Relaxing his body with a deep breath, he strokes a hand over Louis’ back and pecks the keys with the fingers on his other hand. 

Lightning strikes outside the window and Louis huddles even closer. 

“It’s alright, pet. I’ve got you.” 

Once it’s mostly rain with no loud thunder, he falls asleep in Harry’s arms, his legs still tight and warm, fitting snugly against Harry’s where his cock is still nestled deep inside. 

“I love you,” he says softly, kissing him one last time before returning his eyes to the keyboard and writing. 

+

Sometimes Harry checks on the list on his phone to calm his nerves. It makes him smile to glance down the growing collection of things they’ve tried and things they have yet to, to remember the initial nerves from when it was first created. Some kind of Louis-nostalgia, he rationalizes with a grin. 

Usually he’s the only one that makes changes to it, adding or changing small details for future reference or deleting the ones they didn’t like. Only this time, the top of the note says  _ last edited at 12:04 _ which - Harry didn’t edit it, and there’s only one other person who has access. 

Harry’s eyes scan over it meticulously, looking for any changes he may have missed. Was Louis trying to tell him something? That he didn’t like one of their scenes or Harry did something to throw him off? 

When he gets to the end, nothing has been deleted. The only change is two lowercase words at the very bottom, the newest addition to their list. 

_ prostate stuff _ , it reads. 

Eyebrows raising toward his hairline, Harry frowns thoughtfully. If he hadn’t been reading carefully he might’ve missed it. He can do this fairly easily, he thinks. Still, he exits the notes app and opens his private browser to the search engine. 

It’s research time. 

+

The first time Harry discovers something else might be a  _ thing _ , they’re in public. Which, they’d found out a while ago that they aren’t much for voyeurism but this is a bit different than that scenario had been. 

They’re at dinner with Liam and Niall, in fact, at some uptown restaurant Harry can never pronounce correctly. He and Louis are dressed in nice clothes for the occasion - Liam’s belated birthday celebration - which are anything but comfortable. Still, he basks in the familiar feeling of Louis’ arm against his in the booth despite the stiff suit jacket. 

It’d started simply enough. Louis hates fancy places and the small portions of food, would rather complain the entire time than actually eat it. And he’d started to, at first. 

“What can I get for you all?” The waiter had asked politely. 

Of course Louis was first in line. He’d smirked up at the guy condescendingly and tilted his head. 

“I’m not really sure. The portions here are so small, see, and I -” 

“He’ll have the Filet de Boeuf Grillé et Purée d'Epinards Poêlée de Champignons with a refill of the Pinot Blanc, as well as the Mousseline de Homard au Champagne et Caviar,” Harry orders for him effortlessly. 

He’s been here more than a few times with them since it’s Niall’s favorite place to get sushi and he’d learned some of the language a while back when he’d been visiting. Harry orders for him without thinking too much about it, simply tired of his complaints, and then recites his own. 

“Of course, sir,” the waiter nods, taking his menu. 

Picking up his drink to take another sip, he catches Louis staring at him as the other two place their own orders. Furrowing his brows, he catches his eye questioningly. Louis sits there starry-eyed and slack jawed, frozen in his seat. 

“I hope that was okay,” Harry hesitates, “that I ordered for you, I mean.” 

Instead of saying anything, Louis only nods a few times and leans in closer until their entire sides are touching and Harry shoulders most of his weight. 

On the inside Harry panics for a few seconds. The last thing he’s sure either of them want is for Liam and Niall to see Louis when he’s not  _ himself _ . They’d have to make another excuse to leave and Liam would not be happy, already  _ isn’t _ happy they’ve waited so long to celebrate his birthday. 

“Lou,” he says cautiously, squeezing his thigh underneath the table. 

“Your order should be ready soon. I’ll get that refill for you, sir.” 

Harry’s head snaps up to meet their curious gazes as the waiter leaves, nudging Louis with his shoulder to stay sitting up straight. 

“So, tell us about the new album, Liam,” Niall prompts, “I want to know exactly what made you think it would be okay to walk around with that horrendous thing on your neck.” 

Niall points at the gold chain hanging loosely around Liam’s neck. On a normal night he’s sure Louis would have joined right in on the teasing. When Harry glances over, his eyes are glazed as he stares at the chain with a careful tilt of his head. 

And - is he - is Louis thinking about Harry making him wear a -

He doesn’t let himself finish the train of thought. Everything going on right now is much too heavy for a friendly dinner and Harry knows he’s got little time to move them back into safe territory before they may be in actual danger of Louis flat out calling him Daddy and scarring their friends for life even more than they already have. 

“And what about you, Louis?” Liam asks. 

“Hmm?” Louis hums vaguely, blinking several times. 

Harry hadn’t been listening either. 

“I asked if you were writing anything?” 

“Oh, uhm, yeah. I am. It’s just - slow.” 

His words seem to leak out of his mouth deliberately, as if he’s thinking too hard about each syllable. Harry isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing Liam is distracting him or not. 

“That’s good. I know you weren’t totally on board with the whole break thing but I think you could do some really awesome stuff with the lyrics we never got to use.” 

“Yeah,” Louis says flatly. 

Niall launches into another animated story about golf, giving Harry the chance to check on him discreetly again. 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Louis gulps, “promise.” 

He squeezes Louis’ hand hard under the table. 

His wine refill comes out first and Harry holds it up to Louis’ lips to take a sip, hoping it will make him relax without revealing too much. He alternates it with water while the other two are distracted to make sure he doesn’t actually get drunk. He’s pretty sure that would be even worse. 

Their food arrives soon after that. Louis licks his lips when his plate is set down in front of him, eyeing the array carefully. 

“Eat, Lou.” 

Shaky hands come up to grab his fork after he wipes them off on his trousers, poking at the exotic fish and caviar. Harry frowns. 

“No, love. Like this,” he explains, picking up Louis’ wrist to guide him the correct way. 

He tries hard to pay attention but Harry can tell it doesn’t work. Louis’ lower lip juts out like he’s disappointed in himself. Sparing a quick glance to their friends who seem deep in conversation, Harry sighs and uses his own fork to pick some up and feed it to him directly. 

_ That’s  _ when he realizes it’s a thing. As Louis’ eyes flutter shut, his mouth closing around the forkful, leaning forward to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder as a shiver racks his body. Harry sucks in a sharp breath. It might be a  _ thing _ for him, too. 

Something else he can add to the growing list of caveman tendencies, he supposes. The idea of Louis eating from his hand strikes him at once and his face grows hot with the idea. Providing for Louis. Louis depending on him. 

“Right, H?” Niall raises a brow. 

Moving his gaze from where he’d been zoned out staring at the table, he sniffs, “Huh?” 

“Are you guys tired or something?” Liam accuses, pointing at them with his fork. 

“Yeah. Tired,” he agrees. 

Louis still says nothing. 

“Ugh,” Niall groans, “I don’t want to know.” 

“Just at least try to make an effort at conversation, yeah?” Liam pleads, “We haven’t seen you guys in months.” 

“Of course, Li.” 

In the end, they don’t. He and Louis listen to them talk about everything going on and Harry tries to include little things here and there but everyone can tell it’s hollow. Harry’s mind is a bit occupied at the moment. 

They catch up for a while longer before they’re allowed to head home. After hugging goodbye and promising to meet again soon, he herds Louis into the quiet safety of their car as quickly as he can. 

Jogging around and opening the other side, Harry fumbles for the keys to start it and head home. He slides a hand over to hold Louis’ overheated cheek, his thumb rubbing over his lips. His mouth opens and Harry’s thumb is encased in wet heat within seconds. 

The image of Louis sucking his thumb is too much and he has to look away before he gets too distracted to drive. He manages to do so with one hand, letting Louis keep the other - Harry’s thumb in his mouth while he holds on to his wrist to keep him there. 

“Want you to feed me,” Louis says when they pull up to the drive. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. 

It’s a blur getting him unbuckled and into the house, trailing behind him with lips pressed to the side of his head to keep him grounded. Harry leaves him to wait in the foyer while he arranges the living room floor with blankets and pillows, then beckons him to sit while he gets the food. 

Their fridge is packed with takeout and leftovers but not much finger food. Harry’s so determined at this point that he’s about to feed him bits of a steak from a few nights ago until he sees the container of strawberries at the back of the shelf. He pulls them out with a slow grin, already picturing the possibilities. 

“Hungry, pet?” He asks, rounding the corner into the den. 

“Yes,” Louis sighs. 

He’s already made himself comfortable, dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down with his trousers laid carelessly to the side. Harry sets the strawberries on the coffee table and strips off his own shirt. 

“Might get a bit messy,” he explains. 

Off to the side, Louis makes a strangled noise and Harry smirks. 

Adjusting one of the pillows, he sits down beside Louis and touches their knees together, grabbing the container to set down next to them. 

“C’mere, love,” Harry pats his lap. 

Louis scrambles over to him, throwing his legs over until Harry’s got him cradled sideways to his chest. 

“Just like this,” Harry whispers, “gonna feed you, baby.” 

The entire concept is throwing him slightly. It’s just food. He and Louis have eaten a thousand meals together at this point, never having spared a second thought for the act itself. It’s when Harry digs a bit deeper, the sight of his own hand raising up to Louis’ lips, that it becomes  _ intimate _ . 

His thoughts from earlier come rushing back to him. Feeding someone is such a simple thing, but - it’s the fact that Louis wants him to do it that gets to him so much. His needy eyes and warm little body, looking up at Harry, waiting to be fed. Like it’s something he can’t do himself even though Harry knows he’s perfectly capable. Feeding Louis is a  _ privilege _ . 

It gets right to the core of his stereotypical desires, the act of providing for a significant other - a  _ mate _ . It speaks to his heavily repressed traditional masculine fantasies that he works so hard to keep hidden for fear Louis will think he’s gone insane. As much as he’d like to pretend for judgements’ sake they aren’t there, he knows they are. He has to remind himself that this time, tonight, he gets to give in. 

Harry pops open the lid of the container and pulls out a small strawberry, holding it up to Louis’ mouth. A few times he teases him, rubbing it over his lips until they’re bright red. He leans in to lick the flavor off before doing it again. 

When Louis begins to whine he gives in. Pressing it into the thin opening of his mouth, he pushes until Louis’ lips are wide open around it. Harry watches with hooded eyes as he bites down. 

It makes a terribly loud squelching sound in the silence of their living room, red juice dripping out of the corners of his lips. He chews slowly and swallows before returning for another bite. 

Harry uses one hand to feed him and another to cradle the back of his head, using it to urge him forward when he wants him to bite. The entire time Louis’ eyes stay locked on his. 

The scene is so vivid in his brain, right in front of his eyes. Louis’ pink cheeks, his blue, blue eyes, the red and green of the strawberry between the tan skin of his hand and Louis’ stained mouth. It’s something out of one of his dreams a million times better. And it’s all  _ his _ . 

He feeds him several more before he shuts the lid. By the end of it Harry’s hand is covered in the juice, sticky between each of his fingers and on his palm. Louis takes care of it for him. 

Grabbing Harry’s wrist, he runs his tongue between each digit at his own pace. He licks and suckles until all remnants of the juice are gone and then leans up to kiss him on the lips. Harry accepts it eagerly, hand tightening on the back of his neck to keep him there. 

He palms Louis’ prick slowly through his clothes until he comes on the living room palette he made for them, his hand still slick with spit, the smell and taste of the ripe strawberries still lingering heavily in the air between them. 

+

“Couldn’t just wait until we got home, could you?” Harry grunts, pushing Louis into the open door of the Escalade they arrived in earlier. 

Harry’d been ecstatic when they left the house this evening. They’d both been invited to an exclusive A-list party in the city - the kind that no cameras are allowed in. He and Louis had gotten dressed up in complementary pieces and left the house hand-in-hand. Since most of the elite already know they’re together, Harry feels like he can trust the crowd tonight enough to be somewhat public with their relationship. 

Just like usual, Louis takes it too far. It isn’t too obvious at first, his hand on Harry’s thigh underneath the table they’re at while he’s talking to someone across from them. A sultry glance every now and then, just enough to have him reaching for his water as if he was simply parched. 

For a while it’s just nice to be out of the house. To be somewhere he and Louis don’t have to hide that’s  _ outside _ . They get to talk to several people they haven’t seen in a while, catching up and making plans to meet up in the future that Harry may or may not cancel to stay in with Louis when the day comes. 

It’d escalated shortly after that when a blonde woman bounced up the steps to the VIP section, someone they’d never seen before, her bubbly american accent poking daggers in their ears. Despite her brash demeanor, Harry tries to indulge in some small talk until she decides to leave them alone. 

Except - she doesn’t leave. She stays there, leaned forward enough so the tight shirt she’s got on bares her cleavage, giggling at anything Harry says even when he isn’t trying to be funny. She never spares Louis a second glance. 

The woman doesn’t take any of his not-so-subtle hints that they’re about to leave and Harry feels the hand on his thigh tighten marginally. He hisses at the feeling, kicking a leg out under the table. 

“Are you alright?” She asks, poorly manicured hand on his upper arm. 

Louis grabs his cock through his trousers. 

“Uhm,” he coughs, “yeah. We’re leaving.” 

He grabs Louis’ hand and their things and drags them from the room with little finesse and no goodbyes on the way out. Thankful that it’s dark outside now, Harry walks them briskly across the parking garage with Louis in front of him to hide the effects of his few ministrations. 

Now, he glances down at Louis as he sits awkwardly on his knees on the backseats, waiting for instruction. 

“We were having such a nice time,” Harry continues conversationally, undoing his belt, “Haven’t seen those people in ages, Lou. Really wanted to catch up.” 

Harry couldn’t care less about catching up with anyone in there. 

“Sorry,” Louis mutters, a frown on his lips. 

“No, you’re not,” Harry coos, “but you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Have me all to yourself now.” 

His cock slips out of his custom trousers and Louis reaches forward to get his mouth on it without hesitation. 

“Uh-uh. On your knees.” 

It takes little effort to flip Louis onto his front on the large seats, arms flailing to steady himself on the leather. When he stills, Harry reaches into the compartment in the front for supplies. 

Though it’s never happened in here before, Harry’s always thought it might. He’s glad he prepared accordingly. The lube isn’t the one they like from home, but it’s lube just the same. Right now he doesn’t think either of them could wait until they got back. 

Harry uses most of the contents of the packet to get Louis wet enough to stretch, pouring it directly onto his hole without warming it up first. 

“Ah,” Louis moans, voice shaky. 

Grinning filthily, Harry tosses the empty packet off to the side and presses an interested finger to his opening. The excess liquid drips down onto the seat below, Harry’s eyes catching the movement even in the semi-darkness of the garage. 

Louis squeaks as it breaches him initially. He runs away from it at first before moaning into his arm and pushing backward again. Harry encourages him with a chaste kiss to the curve of his hip. 

They work up to two, then three, before Harry pulls them out. Going to wipe them on his shirt, he pauses, glancing at the high-quality fabric and cursing, grabbing a tissue from the front pocket instead. In just the time it takes to do that Louis is already whining again, kicking his leg out impatiently as he glances over his shoulder. 

“Couldn’t just wait until we got home,” Harry mutters again for effect. 

Inside, he’s giddy at the thought of taking Louis in his car. He’s going to think about this every time he drives it now, probably. He’s got to make it count. 

Leaning down to pick up the discarded packet of lube, he uses whatever’s left to slick up his own cock and position himself accordingly. Already he can feel the sweat under all of their layers of clothing when he leans down to plaster their fully clothed bodies together, material shoved out of the way just enough to get inside of him. 

Louis’ hips work back restlessly, agitated at Harry for taking so long. Harry swats at his arse for good measure and then slides in with one smooth, jolting thrust. 

He stills completely at that, arms nearly giving out while Harry holds him up and makes him take it. 

“H-Harry,” he mewls, forehead resting on the door handle. 

“Take me so well, pet. Always so tight for me.” 

Harry’s own forehead rests against the middle of Louis’ warm back as he glances down to where his cock moves in and out of his vision. The zipper on his trousers leaves a red, irritated mark on the exposed area of Louis’ arse but he pushes back against it greedily without complaint. 

Leaning up to rest on his knees, Harry grabs Louis with one hand on the curve of his waist and another on his shoulder and slams into him with double the effort. Louis screams quickly, loudly, muffling himself when the noise reverberates throughout the car. 

Both of their heads snap up at the sound of a car unlocking a few yards away, his cock stilling inside of Louis’ body. Harry growls menacingly, automatically using his body to cover Louis as he whimpers, frightened in his blissful state. 

“S’okay,” he whispers. “Tinted windows, pet.” 

Acting tough, Harry really is slightly thrown off from the small distraction. He huddles himself over the smaller body underneath him protectively until he feels like it’s okay to lean back again. He still waits for the person to drive off before he starts moving, kissing Louis’ shoulder several times to calm him. 

“Daddy,” Louis says, molding his body to Harry’s chest. 

“You’re alright. You’re fine, little love,” Harry babbles, slipping into his role effortlessly, “M’right here. Daddy’s here.” 

Leaving his lips on Louis’ neck, he works back up to the fast pace he’d abruptly stopped at before to distract him back to the moment. He’d never let someone see Louis like this, so lovely and vulnerable. This is just for  _ him _ . 

“There, there,” Louis pants. 

Harry smirks happily down at him and nuzzles his ear. He holds himself up with one hand and grabs Harry’s arm sharply with the other to brace his smaller body from the thrusts. It wouldn’t much matter if someone were out here now, Harry figures, eyes catching on the fog building on the windows, so thick he can’t see out anymore. 

It’s hot, he realizes. They’re both sweating now, Harry can feel it dripping off of them and absorbing into their clothes, and his skin feels like it’s burning. The car rocks subtly with his frantic movements. The noise of Louis’ little whimpers and Harry’s groans harmonize beautifully in his ears. 

A familiar crescendo cascades through his body with a shiver, pounding hard once, twice more before coming deep inside of him. Reaching a hand down through the haze in his brain, he takes Louis’ cock in his hand and rubs until he feels his palm dripping with Louis’ release. 

“C’mere, c’mere,” he murmurs, lips attached to any part of Louis’ skin he can reach. 

He gathers Louis’ shaking body up into him, petting him until his breathing calms. Harry tries to avoid the mess on the seats and sits against the far window with him in his lap. He kisses Louis’ forehead over and over until his lips begin to go numb. 

“Thank you,” Louis whispers. 

“Why do you always thank me, silly boy?” Harry asks. “I love taking care of you.” 

Louis blushes, clearing his throat, “I know, but I - you know how I get sometimes. All jealous and annoying and stuff.” 

“Never annoying,” Harry pouts, “And you think I don’t get jealous? Need I remind you of the hallway incident?” 

Tossing his head back with a groan, Louis slaps his chest. 

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

“I do,” Harry confirms. “And you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about, but - I have to admit, I  _ do _ like seeing you like that.” 

He hides his own face a bit at the admission, feeling too vulnerable even though he was just inside of Louis completely bare, can still feel his own thick come leaking out onto the leg of his custom trousers. 

“Why?” Louis asks, breathless. 

Something in his tone suggests he needs to know, so Harry indulges him, hoping he won’t freak out. 

“Well, I suppose it’s the idea behind it. I like knowing that you want me for yourself. It makes me feel like - well, like you want me half as much as I’ve always wanted you.” 

Louis just stares for a second. Harry goes on. 

“For a long time I just watched you with other people. You had no idea I wanted you because I was too afraid to tell you, so I could never do anything about it. After so long of keeping that to myself I guess it just feels nice to know you feel some of that now, too.” 

“Yeah, but this time I can tell you that’s stupid, that I only want you,” he scoffs lightly, “you didn’t - I never got to give you that back then.” 

He sounds disappointed in himself. Harry frowns as he squirms in his lap, eyes downcast and little fingers playing with the front of Harry’s dress shirt. 

“Don’t focus on that, Louis. We’re here now, aren’t we? We’ve got all the time in the world to get jealous and reassure each other that we’re  _ both _ stupid,” he teases gently, grinning when Louis’ mouth quirks upward. 

Running a comforting hand up and down his back, Harry presses his lips into Louis’ hairline as he curls back into him. 

“And stop thanking me for taking care of you,” he adds. “I love you.” 

“Love you, too,” Louis says softly into his collarbone. 

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that. 

Sometime in the next hour he manages to get them cleaned up with some baby wipes, just enough to move to the front seats and drive home. Louis holds his hand the entire way, his cheek pressed sideways into the seat as he dozes. 

When he pulls into the driveway before he carries him up to bed, Harry parks the car, takes out the key, and stares, a big dopey grin on his face. 

+

It’s days later. Possibly weeks. Harry’s lost all sense of time. 

He’s finally writing again, at least. Countless ideas have been running through his head all day and he keeps having to leave the room and come in here to write them all down before he forgets. 

Louis’ been asleep for a couple of hours now, heading upstairs after he realized it was going to be a while. Hary’d promised he’d be up there soon. When he checks his phone, nearly three more hours have passed since he last checked on him. 

Eyeing the open document on his computer screen, he decides it might be a good time to take a break and come back to it in the morning. He’s been staring at the lyrics for so long that they seem meaningless in his head now. 

Harry shuts the lid quietly and stands from the chair. Twisting around until his back pops, he sighs contentedly at the feeling and flips the light switch off on his way out of the room. 

His tight trousers are still on from when they’d gone out today. It feels wonderful to step out of them, stumbling with one leg in and one leg out in his exhaustion. He tip-toes past the bed to get to the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. 

Originally, he’d been planning to have a nice, hot shower before bed. Harry doesn’t think his weighted limbs would make it that far. Instead, he loses his shirt before he brushes his teeth quickly, then tugs on some loose joggers that were already laid out across the ottoman for tomorrow. 

Without turning on the lamp, he feels around for the bed in the dark and rounds to his side, slipping in underneath the cool sheets with a small, relieved smile. 

He’s already halfway to a deep sleep when his head hits the pillow. Trying not to disturb Louis, he shifts around he gets comfortable. Louis does inevitably move like he always does when Harry comes to bed later than he does, blindly reaching out for him to hold onto. Harry grins with his eyes closed and welcomes the little head on his chest. 

It takes too long to realize what’s happening because at first, at least, it seems normal. 

Louis hums to himself but his eyes don’t open, shifting around restlessly. Assuming he’s just uncomfortable, Harry adjusts him so he’s laying on his arm at a better angle. Still unsatisfied and with a small noise, he continues to move, small, unconscious juts of his hips. 

Yawning dramatically, Harry kisses his forehead and waits for him to settle. He’s already giving into the sleepiness he’d felt earlier. 

But then Louis shifts once more, getting a leg on either side of Harry’s thigh, and he feels it. 

Louis is  _ hard _ . 

Harry wonders if he only did this for his benefit, maybe Louis got himself worked up before he came upstairs so Harry would finally get to have this. But it’s been hours since then and Louis seems thoroughly asleep, mouth barely open around steady breaths, the slightest furrow in his brow that Harry’s so familiar with from watching him sleep before. 

Smaller hips stutter on his thigh the more he works himself up. Half-audible whimpers spill from his pretty lips as his face contorts and relaxes again. 

Holding his breath, Harry carefully maneuvers him onto his side. If he wakes him up accidentally before he’s supposed to, he’s sure he’s going to have pent up sexual frustration for the rest of his  _ life _ . He’s so close to having this. 

Louis settles back into the position almost immediately, his back pressed to Harry’s chest. Soft snores echo through their bedroom. 

And Harry - he’s  _ exhausted _ . It’s well past three o’clock in the morning now. He’s been writing so long that his arm and wrist burn a bit when he flexes them too hard, his vision blurry from staring at the screen. When he closes his eyes, the lyrics from earlier are all he sees; black words against the endless white page. 

So he keeps them open instead and works off of the adrenaline of the moment, of thinking this might actually happen. He’d sort of given up on the idea but now that it’s so close to him, Harry feels a burst of energy, letting a hand fall limply to grope at his cock. 

He shoves the joggers down only just enough, the band resting below the firm curve of his own arse. Reaching forward, he peels the fabric of Louis’ boxers down about the same amount and sucks in a steadying breath. 

When his hand begins to shake Harry jerks it away from Louis’ skin, nervous it will wake him up. He’s grateful he’d fucked Louis on the couch this afternoon in between writing sessions - he hadn’t showered and Harry can still feel the heat radiating from between the globes of skin. 

Besides, Louis likes the hint of pain. He likes reminders that Harry was there. 

He hadn’t been asleep before but he feels like he could’ve been. Palming his still-growing erection, Harry lets his body run on autopilot. With one arm still underneath Louis, he nudges the weeping tip over his concealed hole. The skin moves easily when he pushes down to accommodate him. He slips inside of Louis between one breath and the next, biting his lip to keep from moaning. 

Louis gasps as his body reacts to the intrusion but he doesn’t wake up. Harry watches his eyes flutter underneath his lids without seeing baby blue once, only small slits of white. He waits while Louis wrestles around before he begins to move. Eventually his breathing evens again and Harry takes his chance. 

He’d imagined doing this with the lamp on at first, but he appreciates the blindfolding layer of darkness surrounding them. It all feels more intimate this way, the unforgiving tightness around his cock. If he wasn’t so excited, he might’ve been concerned it was all a dream. 

The boy in his arms becomes unknowingly restless as Harry grinds down into him lazily, mewling, drooling onto Harry’s outstretched arm supporting his head. Still, he doesn’t move outside of the minute twitches he gives when Harry sinks his fingers into the plump skin of his hip, when he teases a nipple to hardness before ghosting a touch over his prick. 

Harry smiles against the back of his neck when Louis’ breath catches suddenly, his hips jerking backward by themselves. Even in his sleep he clings to Harry, and it never fails to take his breath away. 

There isn’t time to wonder if he’s being a creep because Louis’ words swirl inside of his head. He feels safe, he’d said. He loves Harry. He trusts him with his body both consciously and unconsciously. 

Overwhelmed by how lucky he feels and the fact that he has explicit permission this time, Harry sneaks an arm around his tummy and tugs him backward even more, onto the unrelenting rotation of his hips. 

He isn’t able to stop once he speeds up, jostling Louis’ smaller body around with his movements. The small sounds he’d been making waiver under Harry’s sharp groans, getting lost in the heavy breathing. 

They rock backwards and forwards as the sheets get tangled around their legs but Harry doesn’t reach down to fix them. Too tired to focus on anything but the task at hand, he lets himself go. Groaning, he bites a hickey into his neck since he can’t talk, latching on until he’s sure it’ll leave a bruise. 

Louis blinks awake slowly, disoriented but still holding tightly onto Harry’s arm. He can tell the exact moment he becomes aware. The moan he lets out is strangled like it’s buried deep in his throat and had to fight its way out, and Harry devours it with his mouth over Louis’. 

Soft lips opening naturally, he tongues inside of his mouth while he takes it. Harry’s leaning up on one elbow now even though it threatens to buckle tiredly underneath his weight, keeping his sole focus on Louis and his reaction. 

The part of him that had been still somewhat afraid Louis wouldn’t actually be into it in the moment fades away into nothingness all too quickly. Grabbing handfuls of his baby soft skin, Harry squeezes hard and drives his hips in, in, in. 

Nothing is ever said but Harry doesn’t think they need to talk. They’d discussed this already. He knows what he needs to do. 

His grip tightens even further on Louis’ hip, the other clutching desperately at his little hand laid out across the sheet. Chest heaving, Harry still feels lethargic when he comes, stuttering, half-in half-out of his hole. Louis shivers beneath him, his own prick spurting up his abdomen and the bed in front of him. 

Harry pushes deep one last time to keep him plugged up and full of him. It feels like he comes for ages, Louis’ weepy cock flagging as his hole clenches sporadically around Harry’s length. 

His orgasm hadn’t been earth shattering this time. It’d started at his toes and worked it’s way up his entire body until he’d been essentially frozen, consumed by the feeling. It feels like he’s still coming. He can’t think of another time that’s happened. 

Louis whines quietly and Harry’s gaze snaps to him, wiping matted hair back from his forehead. 

“Okay?” Harry grumbles. 

“Mmhm,” Louis hums, cuddling into him again. 

“I know we talked about me staying inside but I can pull out -”

“No,” he slurs hurriedly, “don’t. Stay. S’nice.” 

Finally relaxing his arm, Harry falls flat against the bed and scoots until he’s pressed up against Louis from their ankles to their foreheads. His fingers stroke absentmindedly over his tummy, soothing patterns that Harry hopes will lull him back to sleep. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispers. 

“No,” he says. 

And Harry thinks he probably meant to say something else about how he doesn’t have to thank him for it, but Louis’ snoring again in seconds. Harry hides his sleepy grin in his hair. He’d finally gotten to do it, he’d fucked Louis both awake and back to sleep. 

When he’s finally allowed to close his own eyes, Harry fights it. He thinks instead about where he’s still pushing his cum inside of Louis, the total alignment of their bodies, and the hand that’s holding on to his tightly even when Louis’ brain is miles away. 

+

Louis’ so happily satisfied waking up with Harry’s cock buried in his arse that he kisses the grin off of his lips despite the morning breath and promptly rides Harry until they both pass out again. 

Fucking Louis in his sleep was a success. 

+

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Harry growls, fingertips denting the skin of Louis’ hips. 

Bare arse on the countertop, Louis locks his ankles around Harry’s lower back to keep him from moving too far. As if he would, Harry thinks. 

“Harry,” he pants. 

“Dirty boy,” he spits to Louis, “letting me take you on the counter. Getting everything all messy.” 

And it  _ is _ messy - they’d come down here to make a midnight snack and gotten sidetracked by each other once again instead of focusing on the ingredients. Luckily there aren’t many ingredients out yet but the water glass shakes with the force he’s using, clinking as it shifts. Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ shoulders and uses the other one to stretch a leg as far as it will go to rest on top of his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Louis groans, head falling backward. 

“Don’t come,” Harry warns him. 

Despite the whine of frustration, Louis obeys. He stays still as Harry comes inside of him, then pulls out and taps the head against his hole a few times to get himself clean. After that, Harry drops to his knees on the kitchen floor and swallows Louis’ cock down his throat. 

Mouth falling wide open, Louis whimpers and curls inward, fighting the onslaught of attention on his aggravated prick. Harry sucks him off with blatant finesse, hands anchored on his thick thighs to keep him from wiggling too far out of his grasp. 

He uses his other hand to slip two fingers inside of his stretched hole, then three. Curling his fingertips, he smirks around Louis’ length at the noises he lets out, little hands grabbing the back of Harry’s head. 

His grip tightens marginally before he goes completely lax and comes, and Harry eagerly swallows all of him before standing just in time to catch him before he falls. 

“Shh,” he soothes, hands petting over Louis’ back and chest. 

Harry holds him there until he catches his breath. 

“That was  _ really _ good,” Louis breathes. 

“Good to know,” Harry chuckles. “Is it not good usually?” 

“Shut up,” he pushes at his shoulder. 

Lifting him underneath his sensitive thighs, Harry sets him on the ground as gently as he can, heading to the sink for a rag to wipe down the counter. 

“I’ll get the disinfectant,” Louis suggests breathily, rummaging through their cupboards, the slightest limp in his step. 

“I have quite literally eaten your arse before, my love,” Harry laughs, “I hardly think that’s necessary.” 

“We’re making  _ food _ , Hazza,” he whines. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry lets him root around until he finds it, holding it up and cheering triumphantly when he gets it out. 

“Did you get the pasta from the store?” Harry leaves him to clean the surface, looking in the fridge for the noodles. 

“Yeah, and the sauce,” Louis nods. “From that shop you like downtown.” 

Sliding it out and laying it on the counter, Harry spins and presses a dramatic wet kiss to Louis’ cheek from behind in thanks. In only one of Harry’s shirts, it’s all too easy for him to grab at the tender skin of his arse where Louis is still dripping with him. 

“Ow,” Louis hisses. 

“Sorry, my love,” Harry smiles, massaging the pain away once again and moving back to the food. 

“Wait,” he motions, “You’ve got - you’ve got come on your chin,” Louis giggles, wiping it off. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

Harry bites his finger teasingly as it leaves his skin, unwilling to part from him just yet. The kitchen has more than enough room for both of them but they stay in each other’s space while they prepare the food. 

The cleaning they did on the countertop proves unnecessary. As soon as the pasta is boiling, Harry picks him up by the waist and sets him back down on top of it, wrapping him tightly in a hug. 

“So much for a clean counter,” Louis sighs into the embrace, but doesn’t fight him. 

“Love you,” Harry hums. 

“Love you, Hazza.” 

He turns his face the opposite direction on Louis’ shoulder and tightens his grip. Even after saying it to each other a hundred times, Harry still has to catch his breath when the words leave Louis’ lips. 

Parting from him to stir the boiling water for a few seconds before he returns, Harry makes faces at him while Louis’ crossed ankles thud against the cabinets below in a leisurely swing. He laughs and tries to imitate each one. 

They don’t even move when it’s ready, when Harry mixes it with the sauce and dumps a heaping serving of it for them both onto a plate. He stands between Louis’ open legs and feeds him bites in between taking his own. 

Grinning, he lifts a long string of it and bites down on one end, leaving the other for Louis. Barely containing his laughter, Louis sucks more and more of it into his mouth until they meet in the middle. Harry kisses him hard and groans, tasting the tomato paste on his lips and tongue. 

Pasta sauce gets all over them, on Louis’ clothes and his chest. Feeding him the last bite, Harry pecks his forehead and leaves the plate in the sink for now. 

“Full?” 

“Mhm,” Louis nods, licking his stained chin and lips, “Was very good, thank you.” 

“Of course,” Harry lifts him directly onto his own hip to carry him to the bedroom. 

Squealing, Louis grabs onto his shoulders and tenses until he’s laid down comfortably on the sheets. 

“You’re so strong,” he teases, nudging Harry’s muscles. 

“Nah, you’re just very little,” Harry insists, “my little one.” 

He goes doe-eyed in his arms again at the pet name. Blushing, Louis hides his grin. 

“M’not little,” he says weakly. 

“The littlest,” Harry whispers, bopping his nose. 

He crawls in behind Louis and throws an arm and a leg around him for good measure, planting open mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach until Louis pushes him away, laughing so hard he stops to right his breathing. 

“M’really happy, Harry,” he whispers. 

Biting his lip, Harry grins so hard his face burns and blinks against the delighted tears from the sudden declaration. 

“You have no idea what that means to me,” he whispers in return, sighing with relief. 

He hadn’t known how much he needed to hear that until now. Louis cranes his neck to kiss him again softly, a plain meld of their flavorful lips. It tastes like a  _ thank you _ . 

+

Mirrors. They’re everywhere in the flat. There’s one hanging on the wall in the entryway, another decorative one in the living room. A rectangle one in the dining room and several more in each of the bathrooms. Then, in their bedroom, there’s a giant, full-sized mirror leaning up against the wall in front of their bed. 

He gets the idea one morning when they’re brushing their teeth together. He’s standing behind Louis, a hand on his hip and another on his toothbrush, when he glances up just as Louis leans over to spit. 

With only one sink, they usually take turns, but Harry never stands directly behind him. With him bent over at the waist, the image looks almost like he’s fucking him. His hand drops from the brush to rest on Louis’ shoulder still over the counter, mind running with the possibilities. 

It isn’t like he hasn’t thought of this before, because he has. The first time he ever made Louis come was looking in a mirror. So really, he owes it all to them to begin with. But that’d been in a grungy club bathroom, rushed and high on the foreign feeling. 

Now that they’ve got time to experiment with each other, Harry wants to try it again. That day he’d let Louis stand back up without saying anything and moved forward to spit his own toothpaste into the drain. He’d decided to think on it for a while before bringing it up. 

In the end, there isn’t really much to think about. He’d like to make love to Louis while they watch themselves through the giant mirror in their bedroom. Harry doesn’t think there’s anything else to it. 

He does plan out a few of the specifics beforehand, running the vacuum over the fluffy rug so it’ll be soft on Louis’ knees, cleaning the reflective glass with windex so they don’t miss a single thing. Trivial details that will make it even better later on. 

When all of that is finished, days after the original thought, he finally approaches Louis. 

“What’re you doing, Hazza,” he giggles, Harry’s fingers tickling his sides gently. 

“Want to try something,” he says, “You up for it?” 

Louis’ up and following him to the bedroom with nothing else said, tripping over his own feet eagerly. Harry laughs and strokes a finger over the back of his hand to calm him. 

“I hope you’re okay with being on your knees,” Harry says casually, gesturing to the rug. 

He lets Louis decide what he means while he undresses, hearing him stumble to get into whatever position he thinks Harry means. Louis is kneeling when he turns back around. He opens his mouth to tell him to get on all fours, then pauses. 

“Just like that,” he coos, petting Louis’ head. 

It’s been a while since he last fucked Louis’ mouth. Harry figures today is good for that since it always makes him slightly spacey, puts him in the headspace he likes to be in before they do anything else. 

Sliding his boxers down, he watches Louis’ mouth drop open predictably, waiting for direction with his hands held obediently behind his back. 

“Gonna fuck your pretty little mouth for a minute, pet. That okay?” 

Frantically nodding, Louis leans forward and lets his tongue poke out in invitation. Harry chuckles at his enthusiasm and palms his lengthening cock, teasing it on his lips until it’s fully hard against them. 

Sinking in slowly, he stops halfway at the noise of Louis gagging. As most things with Louis go, it shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. Harry loves every bit of him, but this part has to be one of his favorites. 

Louis’ never had the best gag reflex. He chokes around Harry’s cock nearly every time, only able to take him a little over halfway unless they do some intense practice sessions. Even with those, he’s back to normal by the next time they get around to it. 

It’s incredibly endearing, making Harry groan every time he can feel the muscles in the back of his throat working against him and then the way Louis tries even harder to fight his natural response. Something about it makes Harry flush all over. 

“Good boy,” he tells Louis when he hears it, caressing the outline of his thick cock through the skin of his cheek when he coughs. 

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Louis hums at the praise and continues to concentrate despite the wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. His lack of ability to take him deep without gagging used to embarrass him until he found out Harry liked the idea. He does the best with what he can now, making use of his hands as well when he’s allowed. 

Tightness spasming around the sensitive head, Harry pulls out quickly when he feels himself getting too close. Louis whines, glancing up at him looking thoroughly fucked out. He wastes no time getting Louis undressed. 

“Don’t want to come in your mouth,” Harry growls, “Want to come in  _ you _ .” 

With that, he drops down to sit on the carpet with Louis snug between his legs, his back to Harry’s chest. He hooks his own legs over Louis’ and spreads them until he’s wide open, his hard prick and part of his hole visible in the reflection. 

Leaning his head back onto Harry’s shoulder softly, Louis still hasn’t realized the mirror. He sighs into his neck and bares himself openly. 

Harry caresses the outside of his legs with a light touch, all the way from his knees and back up again. Then he shifts to the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, using his fingernails to scratch angry red lines on either one. 

“ _ Uh _ ,” Louis twitches, gasping. 

“I know,” Harry murmurs, “I know it feels amazing, darling.” 

He reddens the area up some more before soothing it with his palm and massaging the sting away until he relaxes again. When he does, Harry’s hands move down toward where he’s leaking onto his tummy. 

“So wet for me already,” he coos, thumbing over it firmly. 

Louis strains against him, trying to shut his legs at the direct probing. Harry shushes him and kisses his cheek, letting go of his cock to watch it slap back against his skin. 

His fingers travel even lower until he can feel Louis’ tight rim. There’s already lube set out in front of him from when he’d been preparing for this, and Harry grabs it to moisten his fingers before tossing it away with the discarded clothing. 

Reaching a hand down between his stretched open legs again, Harry avoids his prick and teases a fingertip against him until he’s breathing so hard his chest rises and falls twice as fast as before. The second he gets inside of him, Louis’ back arches obscenely. 

“Harry,” he breathes, grasping his arm with little fingers. 

“Look, Louis.” 

Harry uses his other hand to steer Louis’ jaw outward, away from him so that he can see what’s happening because it looks  _ devine _ from this angle. 

With a loud gasp, Louis falls silent as if holding his breath as soon as he catches sight of them together. He whimpers, his eyes cataloging everything going on. 

Bright red lines litter his inner thighs from Harry’s nails. Louis’ muscles tense and release sporadically, pushing into and away from the second finger Harry’s got in him now. The top of his head reaches just to the bottom of Harry’s jaw, and he rests his chin to the side of Louis’ head, lips lingering there, eyes never leaving his. 

“Look at that,” Harry whispers, “look at  _ you _ . See how beautiful you are? How good you are for me?” 

Moaning openly at his words, Louis lets himself be maneuvered until he’s on his hands and knees in front of the mirror. Harry pulls the three fingers he’d worked up to out of him slowly, rubbing around his hole with gentle pressure. 

Once he’s situated, Harry leaves open mouthed kisses on the area left exposed to him. He runs one hand gently from the swell of his arse up his spine to his neck, then grabs a handful of his hair and pulls sharply upward, until Louis’ glossy eyes find his in the mirror. 

“Are you going to watch me while I take you from behind?” Harry murmurs, biting down slightly on his ear. “Gonna let me take you apart where you can see it for yourself?” 

“Please, please, Harry,” Louis gasps, thrashing in his grip. 

“Can’t believe I haven’t thought of this before. Look at you, baby,” he murmurs, lifting Louis’ chin to stay upright. 

He slicks up his own cock and taps the head against where he’s just been fingered open, Louis’ mouth wide open and eyes blinking rapidly. Although unfocused, Harry can tell he’s paying close attention. 

Slipping inside of him, he echoes Louis’ deep moan, his body dropping to blanket his. He catches himself, forcing his neck back up to keep looking in the mirror. Louis’ hazy eyes follow his every movement as he straightens and fucks into him deeply. 

Harry plants both hands on his dainty hips and sinks into the flesh until white fingerprints are left behind, sliding slightly on his damp skin. Ignoring the ache already starting up in his knees, he braces himself and pistons his hips forward punishingly. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” Louis pants beneath him. 

His body is pushed forwards with each thrust, his face moving in close to the mirror before retreating again. The pattern is mesmerizing, capturing Harry’s attention. 

Soon Louis struggles to stay upright, shaking and falling down toward the carpet with his arse up in the air, still anchored to Harry’s cock. He grabs for Louis’ shoulders and hauls him upward again, until they’re both on their knees, bodies aligned from hips to collarbones. 

Wrapping a hand loosely around his neck, he laves at Louis’ salty flesh once again. 

“Keep those eyes open for me,” he croons, thumb swiping over his cheek when Louis’ eyes flutter shut. 

It’s obvious he hadn’t been expecting it when Harry wraps a hand around Louis’ prick, and he jerks and spasms wildly while Harry keeps him still. Everything goes blurry for a few minutes in his brain, a mess of rough, jagged shoves into him as he wails and clutches onto Harry for purchase. 

Feeling close, Harry strokes him off faster, trying to match his own rhythm. He nudges Louis with his head to get him to pay attention. 

“Look, Louis, look at us.” 

“Harry,” he cries, “can I - can I -” 

“Come for me, Lou,” he bites down on his ear and catches his gaze as he trembles, thick white spunk coating the mirror in front of them. 

The sight of that and Louis’ hole clenching around him sends Harry over the edge, and he grabs tightly onto Louis as he comes inside of him. 

“See what I get to look at?” He questions Louis softly afterward, cupping his cheek, “Do you see how gorgeous you are after you’ve come for me? See how lucky I am?” 

He compliments Louis generously, lulling him stable again with his words. Only mewling in response, Louis leans his face up for Harry to press his lips over his skin and his wet eyelashes, leaking down his cheeks. 

They sway together gingerly, mindful of Louis’ sensitivity. Harry’s knees suffer sharp, stabbing pains while he supports both of their weight, but he continues to ignore it. Securing his arms around him, Harry sighs and glances up one last time into the mirror, hiding his satisfied grin into Louis’ hair.  _ Mirrors _ , he thinks. 

+

They get invited to a friend’s wedding in the hills. The invitation comes in the mail on another slow day, both of them walking downstairs together to check it. In the conversation on the way, Harry hadn’t quite realized what it was yet. 

When they get back into the flat, Louis sets the mail keys back on the side table and kicks off his shoes, face planting back onto the sofa. 

“Scoot over,” Harry nudges his limp body, making space for himself on the end cushion until Louis readjusts to cocoon around him like usual. 

He tears into the envelope with a finger and clears his throat. 

“We got invited to a wedding,” Harry tells him. “It’s not too far from here. Few months out, still.” 

Instead of answering, Louis tenses in his arms. Which,  _ that’s _ never good, Harry’s learned. 

“Do we have to go?” 

Swallowing roughly, Harry considers the names printed on the note. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t even remember who they are. Though he’s pretty sure Louis’ reaction doesn’t have that much to do with someone  _ else’s _ idea of marriage. 

“We don’t have to go,” Harry relents quickly. He isn’t in the mood for an existential discussion tonight, and he really doesn’t feel like sleeping on their couch because of the outcome. 

Louis immediately relaxes some but he still holds himself more strictly than he had when they first got back. Even as Harry rubs his back he doesn’t go as lax as usual in his arms, preferring to pay more attention to the television and avoid eye contact. 

_ What are you so afraid of? _ Harry wants to ask him.  _ What are you thinking right now?  _

He doesn’t ask. He pulls a hand through Louis’ hair to calm him and talks about anything he can think of to fill the silence, to distract until everything is okay again. The technique isn’t one he’s proud of. 

One of these days they’re going to have to talk about the relationship things that make Louis uncomfortable, but Harry figures it doesn’t have to be right  _ now _ . Not when things are going so well. Not when Louis falls asleep under his hand, soft and sleepy and wonderful and still unbelievably afraid of commitment. 

+

After a few weeks of researching and watching more niche porn than he ever has in his life, Harry feels somewhat ready to try out the prostate idea. He’s nervous like he is with any scene they do beforehand, but after seeing some of the filthy videos he has to admit he’s curious what Louis’ going to look like, bent over with Harry’s hand rubbing inside of his arse. 

Harry wants to see how much he  _ comes _ , more than anything. He’s got a towel set out already in the bedroom to catch it instead of the floor. If they do it on the bed Harry’s afraid it’ll be too much, that it’ll soak through the layers of fabric and stain their sheets. Not that he would really mind, but he’s sure Louis would be embarrassed every time he saw them afterward. Before he leaves the room to fetch him, he makes sure the towel is situated over the dark rug so that it won’t hurt his knees. 

“Daddy’s got a surprise for you,” Harry sing-songs, descending the stairs with more pep than usual. 

Louis glances up at him unimpressed, a book open on his lap on top of the blanket he’s curled up in. 

“We’re Daddy today, are we?” He raises a brow. 

“Always Daddy,” Harry huffs under his breath, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, you’re really going to like this. Promise.” 

Pursing his lips, Louis considers him thoughtfully before sighing and closing the cover, leaving the book on the coffee table and abandoning the blanket altogether. Harry cheers lightly, spinning back around and motioning for him to follow. 

“What is this great surprise, then?” Louis asks. 

“Can’t you just trust me, darling?” 

Back in their bedroom, Harry takes his hand and leads him to the bathroom without stopping. 

“Step one,” he announces, “a bath.” 

Louis grins to himself, sticking to his side. Harry undresses himself first as the water runs, then reaches beside him to slide Louis’ clothes off as well. When they’re both nude, he helps him climb over the side and sit down comfortably. 

“You’re right, I do like this,” Louis hums, leaning back, closing his eyes against the rim. 

“We haven’t even started yet, baby. Give me a minute.” 

The water sloshes higher when Harry sits down, tugging Louis into his space so he can wash him properly. 

“What are you doing?” He squeaks. 

“Gotta get you all clean,” Harry kisses his shoulder just barely covered by the water. 

He leans Louis’ head back and washes his hair attentively though it isn’t necessary for tonight, he just knows Louis likes how it feels. Then he soaps him up from his collar bones to his tummy and rubs the day off of his skin until he’s shiny. 

Finally, he turns Louis around until he’s snug against his chest and spreads his legs wide open. Louis protests weakly, but relaxes when Harry’s touch returns. He cleans his most intimate areas with a soft rag and some more soap, then rinses him thoroughly. 

Body wash is lathered onto him as the last step, sliding down the drain when Harry dumps handfuls of warm water over it. Taking little time to wash himself, he stands to help Louis out again and dries him off everywhere he’d been washed. 

“Well now I’m ready for a nap,” Louis teases, leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I think you’re going to want to be awake for this, love.” 

“Enough teasing,” he groans, “tell me what it is.” 

Smirking, Harry only pats the damp skin of his arse twice in response. 

“Hands and knees,” he says. 

Scoffing, Louis still does as requested, dropping to his hands and knees on the floor, still naked. He glances up for direction. Harry bends down to rest on his knees behind him and presses a firm hand to his lower back to flatten it out. 

“You’re going to have to relax for me. D’you think you can do that?” 

“Yeah,” Louis nods. 

He tries to sound unaffected but Harry can already hear the tremor in his tone, the slight excitement of the unknown that never fails to get him going. 

“Do you remember when you told me that you couldn’t get yourself off with just your fingers?” 

“ _ Harry _ ,” Louis moans embarrassingly just as one of Harry’s fingers ghosts over his hole. 

“I remember it,” Harry continues, unperturbed, “I remember thinking that that was okay because surely you didn’t need your own fingers when you have mine.” 

Sliding two fingers in when Louis inhales, Harry works them around until he stretches around them just enough to bend at the knuckle. 

“Because I’m the only one that can reach that spot inside of you, isn’t that right? The only one that can make you,” Harry nails his prostate dead-on, then yanks his touch away, “ _ come _ from this alone.” 

“Ah,” Louis hisses, “again, again, H.” 

“Shh, pet. I’ve got plans for you, remember?” 

He scissors his fingers over and over again even though he’s already open enough, purposely avoiding where Louis needs him. Right now he’s simply watching Louis get hard, fascinated by the way his prick hangs down between his open legs, his balls swelling with intent. 

Barely, Louis’ cock drips down onto the towel below and Harry’s mouth waters. That’s surely only the beginning. 

“What - what are you doing, Haz?” 

“I’m going to milk you, darling. Gonna give you a nice little massage until there’s nothing left inside of these,” he squeezes Louis’ balls harshly, watching him fall forward onto his elbows. 

“I didn’t - didn’t think you saw that,” Louis admits with a blush, breathing choppy. 

“Of course I did. Give you everything you want, always,” he mumbles. 

“Daddy,” he whispers thickly, “thank you.” 

Harry pauses to kiss him until he’s breathless, then returns to stretching him. Now that Louis knows what he’s trying to do he seems much more interested, pushing back eagerly and relaxing in his hands. 

“You ready?” Harry murmurs, fingers poised at his entrance. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods, “I’ll tell you if it’s - if it gets to be too much.” 

Slipping them in to the knuckle again, Harry aims, then charges, fixating on the fleshy inner part of him without distraction. 

He keeps an eye on Louis’ vibrating limbs as they fight to keep him upright, making sure he doesn’t collapse or hurt himself. With the constant pressure, it doesn’t take him long to start coming. 

Reaching down hurriedly, Harry takes hold of his prick and aims it for him so that it doesn’t get off of the towel, feeling his length pulsate as the first droplets leave his body. 

Harry readjusts his fingers and presses harder when there’s a break in the steady leaking. As soon as he does, Louis yelps and another thick glob lands translucently underneath him. Slowly, Harry pulls him off to help it all come out smoothly. 

He’s trying to keep calm for Louis’ sake but it’s - it’s a  _ lot _ . Mouth permanently open around nothing, he can only watch as it doesn’t stop, keeps blurting out of his prick endlessly while Louis sobs softly into his arm. 

Parts of him twitch the longer it keeps going, the more Harry rubs inside of him. Louis glances down and Harry can just barely see the side of his face, the look of sheer surprise on his features. They’re both shocked. 

“Fuck, Louis,” he hisses. 

He’s taking everything that Louis has to offer and it’s undeniably one of the hottest things Harry’s ever witnessed. He’s manipulating Louis’ body and they’re both getting off on it. His thoughts are anything but eloquent, too focused on the sight in front of him. 

Eventually, after another minute or so, Louis’ come slows to a stop. It dribbles a bit when Harry shakes it off, cradling the spent prick in his hand until the body it’s attached to stops shaking. 

Louis falls to one side just out of the way of his drying cum, lifting a hand to weakly gesture at Harry toward the towel. 

“You,” he points. 

Harry eyes his face and the small mountain of cum, trying to understand. 

“You want me to come on it?” 

Eyes halfway closed and breathing labored, Louis nods at him as best he can. 

He hadn’t even realized how hard he’d gotten before, too distracted to feel the heavy weight of his own cock straining in his boxers. Harry tugs the waistband down and pulls it out, using some of the wetness at the tip to make an easy slide. 

“Ugh,” he groans, tensing when Louis reaches a hand up to loosely cover his own where it’s moving quickly now. 

Glancing down at the amount of Louis’ release below, he bites his lip. There’s so  _ much _ and it’s - it’s - 

“It’s all for you,” Louis finishes softly. 

Harry spills over both of their hands and the towel, combining them together. With hooded eyes he tracks the movement of Louis’ hand, swirling a finger around to mix it thoroughly before bringing it up to his mouth and swallowing. 

“Fuck,” he moans again. 

Giggling, Louis continues to drag his fingers through it and put it on his tongue, showing it to Harry teasingly. With a growl, Harry leans down and shares it with him, licking inside of his mouth roughly. 

It isn’t as glamorous afterward when they stand up to clean, but it’s just as intimate. Harry’s good at this part. As much as he enjoyed that, he’s grateful they’re back in familiar territory. He tucks Louis underneath the sheets because he’s still unsteady on his feet, then carefully lifts the towel to carry to the laundry. 

“Told you you’d like the surprise,” he grins, flopping down beside him. 

“Yeah,” Louis chuckles tiredly, “Good job,” he says, patting Harry’s cheek. 

The promise ring glints in the lamp light as his hand retreats to rest at his side. Harry grins, pulling it back to kiss it. It’s barely three o’clock in the afternoon according to his phone, still bright daylight outside the window, but Harry falls asleep cradling Louis’ hand to his heart. 

+

Harry’s scrolling through Instagram when Louis trots into the bedroom the week after, bouncing on the mattress until he’s situated beside him. He burrows underneath Harry’s arm to watch the small screen with him. At first, everything is normal. 

“Hey, love,” Harry chuckles, petting the back of his head. 

Louis hums softly, rubbing his cheek over Harry’s chest. 

“Those are cute,” he says when Harry clicks on a picture of some new sportswear campaign. He’s been considering buying the joggers for a while now. 

“You think so?” He asks. 

“Yeah. They’d look really nice on you.” 

He squeezes Louis tighter in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Harry loves days like this, when neither of them have any plans and Louis seems content to just relax with him. He goes all cuddly and needy and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. He rests a protective hand on his lower back and settles further into their pillows. 

A few minutes later he pauses over a picture of one of his friend’s babies, double-tapping it. The shirt it’s got on is cute, but the pants are bright orange cheetah print. The baby looks like some sort of small hooker, he thinks. Harry snorts at the idea. 

“Those are horrendous,” Louis agrees without knowing what he’s thinking, “I would never put that on my baby,” he shivers. 

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, “Our kids will have only the best outfits, I’m sure.” 

Harry smiles at the idea, but Louis tenses in his arms. It’s a small enough movement that anyone else might have missed it, but Harry feels it echo inside of his own body tenfold. It speaks volumes. 

“You want kids?” Louis’ head snaps upwards, his eyes wide. 

It takes Harry a moment to realize his mistake, what threw Louis off. He should’ve remembered anything about the future was a red flag. 

“Like in the future, I mean,” he explains softly, “I don’t mean right now.” 

“I know but you’re like, way far ahead of me. I’m not even thinking about that at this point,” Louis shifts away from him slightly, already beginning to curl in on himself defensively. 

“I didn’t mean now, Louis. It’s alright. We’re just having a conversation, I’m not pushing you into anything.” 

“Yeah but you’re - the idea is there. It’s obvious you think about us having kids at some point.” 

Harry frowns, staring at him confusedly. 

“I assumed you knew that. I told you this was a forever thing for me, Louis. Kids are a part of that. They used to be for you, too, until we were talking about - about  _ our _ kids.” 

“Are you suggesting I don’t want kids with you?” 

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting, Louis,” Harry says exasperatedly, “I didn’t think that this all would’ve - I should never have said anything. Sorry.” 

He sits silently on the opposite side of the bed with his arms crossed. Harry keeps scrolling down his phone, waiting for whatever he’s going to say next. Louis always has something else to say, something to add salt to his wounds at the worst moments. 

“Look, it’s just a big thing for me, okay? I don’t want that pushed on me.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Harry asks, setting his phone down, “You think I’m pushing this on you? Have I ever pushed anything on you, Louis?” 

“I didn’t mean  _ push _ ,” Louis groans, tugging at his hair. “I just meant that you know it takes me a while to think through the big decisions. I’m not ready to think about this one yet. And you know you have a big influence over me -” 

Harry barks a laugh, turning in further to stare at Louis. How has he possibly managed to pin his own uncertainty on  _ him _ ? 

“You’ve always had the power here, Louis. Can’t you see that? Don’t blame me because you can’t figure that out.” 

“What are you talking about?” He spits, “You’re the one that - that -” 

“That takes care of you when you need it? That loves you more than anyone else in the whole fucking world, Louis? Cares about you more than himself?” Harry seethes. 

Louis puts his hands over his face and sighs, voice coming back defeated. 

“Then why do you do this?” He asks. 

“Why do I want to know your feelings? Because we’re in a relationship, Louis. That’s how these things work.” 

“But you - you push me for answers that you know I can’t give you yet,” his voice raises again, “Why do you do  _ that _ ?” 

“Because  _ you’re _ too scared to admit to yourself that you  _ need _ me to,” Harry yells, deafeningly loud in the small room, tired of dancing around the truth. 

Louis’ jaw ticks. He glares at Harry, stone-cold hard, and stands from the bed, spinning on his heel, leaving the room and eventually the flat. Harry rubs his temples - how had that escalated so quickly? 

He flinches when the front door slams shut. This is the second time Louis’ walked out on him now. 

Back to square one, then. Harry doesn’t feel quite as forgiving this time. He isn’t a love-sick teenager anymore and he isn’t a pushover. He’ll be waiting here when -  _ if _ \- Louis decides to come back. 

This time, he doesn’t feel guilty. The worry will kick in shortly and he’ll go insane thinking about finding him, apologizing, protecting him, but for now all he feels is anger. Harry flips the lamp off, turns to adjust his head on the pillow, and falls asleep next to Louis’ empty spot on the bed. 

  
  



	2. 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> louis accidentally cuts himself at one point while shaving in part two - it isn’t graphic at all and is only mentioned for roughly a paragraph, but there is also a scene with feminization so please be aware of any of those descriptions/language may be triggering for you! enjoy!

_ Louis _

The first thing Louis realizes after walking out is that it’s freezing cold outside. The second is that he may have just made a very big mistake. 

But his pride sits heavy in the back of his throat, taking up too much space to get enough air in as the wind blows around him. He’d left his jacket inside the house. He refuses to go back in and get it now. 

Louis’ always known it would be his ego that ruined him. No matter how much he tries, he can’t seem to get rid of that wall inside of him that refuses to come down. It’s better with Harry, so much that he can usually pretend it’s not there at all, but it’s never fully gone. 

So instead of turning around and going back to Harry, to the man that he knows would never judge him for anything, Louis walks determinedly toward the closest bar, completely aware that it’s not a good idea. 

The intimacy is what gets to him the most, he thinks. He’s always felt so stifled by the industry he’s in. Everyone telling him what to do and how to dress and how he can and can’t act. Louis just wants to  _ exist _ . 

He can do that with Harry, he knows, but sometimes he just needs to be alone. To think by himself for a few minutes before admitting his defeat, admitting he isn’t strong enough to handle everything on his own. 

Tonight, there’s a dangerous edge to that. Louis wants to be alone to think but he also wants to be  _ bad _ . To draw Harry out until he has to come back and get him, take him home and remind him to be good again. 

He’s at the bar within minutes since it’s only a few streets over from their flat. Familiar doors swing open to the crowded dance floor, too many bodies to care that Louis Tomlinson has just walked in. It’s exactly how he likes it. 

Louis wastes no time heading to the bar for a drink. And another. And another after that one. He takes a small bathroom break to steady himself, decides he isn’t drunk enough, and then goes back for one more. 

His body is loose when he finally steps onto the dance floor, slipping between other people to get to the middle where he can really get lost. Immediately, there are fingers on him, grabbing, touching. Someone approaches him from behind but Louis doesn’t bother seeing who it is. If it isn’t Harry, it doesn’t matter. 

In the back of his head, he feels Harry’s hands on his hips instead of a strangers. Harry’s warm breath on his neck instead of the too-hot, sticky, alcohol-smelling exhales he feels there now. 

The memory of the last time he was in a club floods his senses. All those months ago when he’d been angry with Harry. Even then, Harry had taken it upon himself to come and take care of him. To save him from himself when he wasn’t yet able to admit he needed it. 

So where is he now? Harry’s never abandoned him. Louis wonders absently if Harry followed him here, if he’s watching from somewhere in the crowd. In his drunk brain, Louis wants to  _ push _ . If Harry  _ is _ here, surely he’ll come get him if he gives him enough reason to. 

Louis turns his body in the man’s grip, until he’s facing a too-small, overly sweaty chest. Each time he sways his hips Louis catches a whiff of the putrid smell coming off of the man’s body. Despite this, he sticks to his plan. 

Red flags begin to go off in his head when warm lips find his pulse, but he tries to relax into it. This is probably driving Harry crazy. He should be here any second to rip them apart, take Louis home and fuck him until he can’t remember why he left in the first place. 

He keeps that in mind as he tilts his head to the side to hide his grimace. Louis huffs several times against the feeling of a rough tongue on his skin. The guy is practically slobbering on him and Louis tries hard not to gag. 

_ Where is Harry? _ he thinks. 

“You’re a bad boy, aren’t you?” The man grumbles drunkenly. 

It doesn’t sit well with him. Louis wants to be  _ good _ , not bad. Becoming desperate for Harry’s attention and for this guy to stop talking, he pulls back from the dirty grind of their hips, not the least bit turned on, and smashes their lips together heatedly in an effort to get attention. 

The man groans loudly, appreciatively into his mouth and tightens his grip on Louis’ arms. It’s wrong. Everything is wrong -  _ bad _ . He doesn’t taste right, he isn’t touching Louis the right way, he doesn’t feel safe. 

Louis parts from him abruptly, hands pushing at his shoulders to get away. The guy chases his lips, arms still reaching out for Louis’ body. Losing breath and slightly dizzy, Louis trips several steps backward. 

“Louis,” someone says behind him, a steadying hand light on his back. 

“Har-” he gasps, spinning around hopefully. 

It isn’t Harry. 

Standing in front of him unfortunately is Lachlan, their neighbor. Their neighbor who knows he and Harry live together, knows they’re probably way more than friends, whose just seen him kissing someone else. The color drains from Louis’ face. 

“Are you okay,” he asks, careful not to touch Louis too much since he probably seems upset. 

“No,” Louis yells over the music. “No, I - I want to go home, please.” 

Lachlan’s eyes widen as Louis slurs his words, most likely realizing he’s more drunk than he’d first thought. 

“Alright, c’mon, I’ll call us a cab.” 

He steers Louis carefully outside back into the cold air. Shivering, Louis watches him frantically dialing. 

“Are you - you’re calling Harry?” He asks slowly. 

“No, no. I’m calling a cab, yeah, remember?” 

“Cab,” Louis repeats simply, putting a hand over his eyes. 

The headlights of the passing cars are too bright, giving him a headache even though it’s completely dark outside. He doesn’t move his fingers until he hears a car pull up in front of them. 

“Okay, let’s go, man. Just right there, to your right.” 

Lachlan is going to get a very big gift basket soon, Louis decides. He helps him into the car on unsteady feet, sliding in after him and staying a seat away from him. Louis knows it’s because he’s witnessed Harry’s territorial side a few too many times now. 

“I wan’ Harry,” he whines petulantly, bottom lip jutting out and eyes filling with tears. 

“We’re almost back, yeah? I’m sure Harry will be happy to see you,” Lachlan smiles nervously, trying to soothe him. 

“No. He won’t.” 

Whimpering, he curls up in the seat and focuses on his breathing, sharp nausea rising in his stomach. They pull to a stop a few blurry minutes later. Offering a hand, Lachlan tugs him up and out of the cab, tossing a few bills at the driver. 

“Thanks,” he rushes, standing back up like he’s afraid Louis may not be able to stand on his own. To be fair, Louis figures, he may have a point. 

He leans on him on the way to the front door. Just as they’re about to go in, he freezes on the sidewalk. The promise ring on his finger glints underneath the streetlights. He’s going to be sick. 

“What?” Lachlan asks, “What is it?” 

Instead of answering him, Louis vomits all over the front garden of the building. His esophagus burns with the number of drinks he had and he hopes that some of the awful feeling in his stomach will come out with it. When he stands up, he’s just as dizzy as he was before. 

“Shit,” Louis hears him mutter. “C’mon, Harry’s gonna  _ kill _ me.” 

“Harry,” Louis sobs openly. 

They get through the front door without anyone seeing them, heading quickly to the lift. Once they’re inside, Louis rests his head on the cool glass and shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see himself in the reflection. He feels pathetic. 

It only hits him as the doors slide open on their floor - Harry never came. He was never there in the first place, probably got tired of his antics like Louis thought he would a long time ago. He’d danced and kissed someone else for nothing. He was  _ bad _ for nothing. 

Silent tears slip down his cheeks as they slow down in front of their door. 

“Do you have your key?” 

“No,” Louis shakes his head. He’d been too angry when he walked out to grab it. 

Lachlan raises a fist to knock gently. It feels like ages that Louis stands there, waiting to see Harry’s face again. It’s odd to wait to be welcomed into his own home. Louis knows he quite literally did it to himself. 

“Hey, Harry, mate,” Lachlan stutters, awkwardly pushing Louis onto him. “I found Louis down the road, he wanted to come home. We took a cab.” 

It’s too much information and not enough at the same time but Louis knows he’s just filling the silence, giving Harry enough to prove his own innocence without directly throwing Louis under the bus. 

“Thanks, Lachlan. I’ll take him from here,” Harry says faux-politely, looking tired. 

He sounds nice but Louis can hear the undercurrent of anger, the slight tremor in his usually strong tone. It doesn’t matter.  _ Louis _ didn’t matter enough for him to come. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis starts as soon as he shuts the door, “I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was a mistake, I -” 

“Hush, Louis. This is not the time to discuss this.” 

Louis stands motionless next to the door, watching Harry flit around the room too quickly. His brain struggles to keep up with his simple movements, brows knitting together as he slides down to the ground. 

“You didn’t come find me,” Louis slurs, slumped against the wall next to the front door. 

“ _ Don’t _ , Louis,” Harry seethes. “We’ll talk in the morning. Don’t do this tonight.” 

“But - but you didn’t - I wanted you to come find me,” he pouts. 

“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t have left in the first place then, huh? Then I wouldn’t have had to chase you like I always do.” 

It stings. Enough that Louis’ mouth snaps shut and he shrinks further against the wall, trying to make himself smaller. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers. 

“Just go to bed, Louis.” 

At his stern tone, Louis uses all of his strength to stand and head to the bedroom. He holds onto the walls the entire way to the stairs, turning around to frown when Harry doesn’t immediately follow him. 

“Aren’t you coming?” He asks, hazy vision spinning Harry’s body sideways in his eyes. 

Louis blinks hard to get rid of it. It doesn’t work. He sees Harry’s mouth move on two separate bodies when he speaks. He shouldn’t have drank so much. Shouldn’t have done anything he did tonight. 

“M’sleeping down here,” Harry mutters, then repeats, “go to bed, Louis.” 

He begins to argue with him, then turns around and tries to get up the stairs by himself. In a blur of nausea and frustrated tears, Louis falls fully-dressed onto the top of the bed and deep into a dreamless, unfulfilling sleep. 

+

Louis remembers what happened before his eyes even open. He winces against the phantom light on his cheek from the window and rolls over in his stale clothing. It takes him a few tries to stand on his own. 

Hands on the mattress to keep him steady, he makes it to the bathroom to brush his teeth and hopefully take a shower if he can keep from getting dizzy. When he looks in the mirror there’s only one of him so he counts it as a win. 

Not much of one, really, since he hasn’t spoken to Harry yet. Seeing his side of their bed perfectly untouched does terrible things to Louis, makes his heart beat so hard it threatens to come out of his throat. Louis tugs his shirt over his head as he spits out the toothpaste and turns the shower on. He’s pretty sure he imagined it, but he swears there’s a patch of red, irritated skin right over his heart. He probably clawed at it in his sleep. 

The refreshing temperature of the shower does little to soothe him. If anything, he rushes through cleaning himself and washing his hair so he can get downstairs and talk to Harry. That must mean something, he figures, that he actually  _ wants _ to go and say he’s sorry. 

He towels off and goes to slip on one of Harry’s shirts, then decides against it. He probably won’t want Louis wearing his shirt when Louis tells him he kissed someone else. 

Heading downstairs with a careful hand on the railing, he tries to listen for Harry. Hearing nothing after a few minutes, he steps off and rounds the corner to the kitchen. 

Harry is there already. He’s sitting at the table by himself, eyes focused on his mug even though he must’ve heard Louis come in. Louis gulps and fills up a glass of water, sliding into a seat across from him. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound condescending. It makes Louis feel even worse. 

When Harry glances up Louis can see the effects of his bad decisions. Harry’s eyes are hooded like he hadn’t gotten enough sleep, his skin dry like he’d been crying in the night. Frowning, he keeps his gaze lowered until Louis answers. 

“Okay,” he says brokenly, “Just a headache.” 

Is this what he’s like every time Louis does something stupid? Because he does quite a lot of stupid things and he would feel really awful if Harry always seemed so -  _ dissapointed _ in him. 

“What did you do last night, Louis?” 

He stares at a spot on the table until his vision blurs. Then he inhales deeply and starts from the beginning. 

“I went to the bar down the street.” 

“Why did you do that,” Harry asks when he pauses for too long, the words caught in Louis’ throat. 

“I wanted - wanted to see if you would follow me.” 

Pain flickers over Harry’s face in a tight grimace before it passes again with a slightly disapproving shake of his head. 

“You know,” Harry huffs, “I follow you because I love you, Louis. I would follow you anywhere. But you can _ not _ keep doing this kind of thing.” 

“I don’t - do I do this a lot?” Louis’ brows turn inwards, trying to think back. 

“No, not this exactly. But you have this wall up still, this thing that I’ve been trying to break down for years. And no matter how many times I tell you you can just come to me, you can ask me for help because I want to take  _ care _ of you, you push me away.” 

Louis nods without making a sound. When he stays silent, Harry sighs. 

“Tell me what else happened.” 

“I got drunk, obviously,” Louis admits quietly, “I had too much to drink and I danced and I -” 

He can’t get the sentence out for the way his airway closes tight again. Suddenly he feels just as dirty as he did last night, just as  _ bad _ . Perhaps his shower hadn’t been thorough enough. The imprint of the stranger’s hands and mouth feels branded into him for Harry to see, though he knows there isn’t any physical evidence. 

“What did you do, Louis?” He asks again. 

“I kissed him,” Louis rushes, “I kissed him and I - I hated every second of it. I hate that I did that and the only reason I did it was because I thought maybe you were there. Maybe if I pushed you hard enough you would come and take me back. I was waiting for you to. Which, I’m not like,  _ blaming _ you for anything, but that’s what I was, uhm, thinking. I’m sorry.” 

It’s the most honest he’s been about something in a long time. Harry doesn’t seem to think it’s all that monumental. His eyes are still blank when Louis catches them again. 

“Thank you for being honest,” he says flatly. 

“Harry, I’m really sorry. It won’t  _ ever _ happen again, I promise.” 

“If you want a more open relationship I’m not sure I’m going to be able to give that to you,” Harry mutters. 

“No, no, Harry. That’s the last thing I want. I only want you,” Louis says desperately, “Just you.” 

He doesn’t miss the irony, not after kissing someone else. 

A while ago if someone he was fooling around with made this big of a deal about a kiss, he’d have just left. Now Louis’ the one feeling like he’s gone and cheated on Harry, guilt consuming him from his toes to his aching temples. 

“If that’s true,” Harry reasons, “then you’ve got to work with me. I thought we made progress but then things like this happen and I - I can’t do it anymore, Louis. If this is going to work you  _ have _ to be honest with me.” 

“I will, I will be,” he promises, wishing he could take Harry’s hand. 

“I’m serious. I’ve given you all of me for four years now, Louis. Nearly five. I still don’t have all of you.” 

When Louis begins to cry, Harry softens his words but remains firm on the other side of the table. 

“Which is okay, as long as you’re at least working on it. I love you, Louis. We’re in a relationship. You have to promise me you’ll stop running.” 

“Okay, I promise. I love you, I love you,” he repeats, hoping the more Harry hears him say it the more he’ll know he’s serious. 

“I love you, Louis,” he says back. 

But instead of providing him reassurance, Harry stands and sets his half-full cup in the sink and heads upstairs. Louis hears the study door open and creak as Harry cracks it halfway like he always does in case Louis needs something. 

At least he hadn’t slammed it. Louis’ got a long way to go to be forgiven. This isn’t something he’s going to be able to fix by offering up his body, not that Harry’s ever accepted that as repayment for anything anyway. Even when he’s burning up with anger toward him, Harry is still the kindest, fairest person he’s ever met. 

He’s going to do better. He’s going to have all of the uncomfortable conversations and the relationship talks. He’s going to make himself be a good boyfriend. 

And he’s got absolutely no idea where to start. 

+

Lachlan receives his gift basket the following week, but Louis doesn’t think flowers and some candy are going to erase the unfortunate memory of his mistake. Lachlan never says thank you. 

+

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that Louis doesn’t really know  _ how _ to be a good boyfriend. All of his past relationships have been short-term hookups or one night stands that he regretted deeply afterward, so he’s never had to make an effort to impress anyone. 

Labels like  _ boyfriend _ set alarms off in his head no matter how hard he tries to pretend they don’t. To keep himself calm, he has to separate the word from the feeling he gets when he’s around Harry, the safeness and security that radiates off of him. 

But Harry lights up every time they accidentally do something domestic - boyfriend-y - so he still wants to make an effort to embrace it. 

That task proves more difficult than he thought when Harry hardly speaks to him throughout the week. He comes in after he leaves somewhere and kisses him on the forehead, says he loves him before they slide into bed together. Other than that, he’s closed off emotionally at the moment which Louis can’t even blame him for. 

If Harry’d done what he did, he has to admit he would feel much the same way. It’d been stupid and he knows he overreacted but now all he can do is try to make things right. 

So when Harry says he loves him Louis says it back louder, leans his head completely into Harry’s touch when he’s allowed the privilege. He takes every chance he’s got to prove himself again. It isn’t enough yet, he can tell. It’s in the tiredness of Harry’s eyes, the quiet stare he gives him when he thinks Louis isn’t looking. Louis’ just happy he hadn’t been broken up with or kicked out. 

He’s not forgiven yet but he’s not going to give up on Harry. It’s the least he can do after years of Harry not giving up on  _ him _ . 

Louis thinks the most painful part of it is that he  _ does _ want those things with Harry. He wants marriage and babies and everything he knows they can’t have in their positions. Maybe that’s why he’s so afraid of the concepts, why he tries to avoid them. Because he knows those aren’t things they can just decide to do on a whim like anybody else could. 

He feels more stupid the longer he thinks about it. It’d been a simple conversation and he’d gone and been himself and ruined it like he always does. He figures he isn’t going to get much done by sulking alone. 

Staring blankly at the silent staircase where Harry left him earlier, Louis burrows himself inside his blanket further and sighs. 

+

Louis’ never been a patient person. He’s been trying recently, waiting for signs that Harry wants to talk to him before opening his mouth, watching for signals that indicate it’s okay to touch him again. 

After another week of nothing but surface-level small talk, he begins to get restless. It’s been even longer than that since Harry’s truly touched him the way he likes. He wonders if Harry’s also feeling the effects. 

When Harry gets back from hanging out with some friends, Louis decides he’s brave enough to say something, even if he doesn’t get the answer he wants. 

“Hey,” he says when he walks through the door. “How was lunch?” 

“It was fine.” 

He hangs his coat up next to the door and toes off his shoes underneath it with stoic movements, no term of endearment following his words. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” Louis asks lightly before he can leave the room again. 

“I have been avoiding you,” Harry confirms. 

“I - why? I thought we were trying to -” cutting himself off, Louis glances up at him unsurely. 

_ Weren’t they supposed to be working through this together? _

“I’ve been avoiding talking through my problems. I’ve been running away from you. I’m sorry.” Harry doesn’t sound the least bit sorry when he says it. 

“We agreed to talk to each other, though. We said we’d -”

The anger builds inside of him until the moment he realizes what Harry’s trying to do. Blank eyes stare openly back at him as he pieces it together. 

He’s giving Louis a taste of his own medicine. 

Not as harshly as Louis’d done it before, but the intention is clear. Harry still made sure to reassure him at the end of the day, to tell Louis he loves him no matter what, but living with him these last few weeks has felt hollow in a way it never has before. 

Harry’s already gone when Louis wakes up in the mornings, staying out until nighttime with friends he says he hasn’t seen in ages. When he is home, it still feels like he isn’t. Louis should’ve known that wasn’t like him. 

He’s been running away just like Louis has every time Harry wants to dig a bit deeper, add another intimate layer to their relationship. This time he wants  _ Louis _ to give chase. 

“Tell me what I need to do, Harry,” he pleads, “I’ll do anything. I know I don’t deserve your honesty but I - I can do better if you’ll just help me, I promise. I don’t know how to make it better.” 

Harry doesn’t move at first, his eyes locked blankly on Louis’. Louis thinks he’s probably trying to judge his honesty. 

“I’m trying,” Louis whispers, close to tears already. 

He’d realized only after he didn’t have it anymore how much Harry’s faith in him meant. He was more confident with it, able to speak his mind without fear of judgement. When Harry believed in him, he believed in himself more. 

Unlike this moment, standing in front of their sofa with Harry miles away, not a single twitch to give away what he’s thinking. Louis’ sweating hands are wiped on his jeans as he forces himself to hold the small eye contact if he isn’t allowed anything else. 

“I know you are,” Harry says. “But I needed you to see what that felt like. When all you want is to talk, to work something out with the person you love and all they do is shut you out.” 

The worst part of all of it is that Harry didn’t even completely shut him out. If the parallel had been perfectly accurate, he wouldn’t have been as nice as he was. He would’ve not spoken to Louis at all, only said harsh words when he had. Instead, he’d allowed Louis to feel all of that on the most minor scale he could muster. Like usual, Louis feels even worse after having vulnerable conversations. 

“I’m sorry. It seems like that’s all I know how to say but, I am. I know it isn’t easy to be with me.”

He’s in the middle of a defeated shake of his head when Harry’s feet come into his line of vision, strong arms wrapping around his smaller frame. He accepts the touch gratefully, leaning into it with all of his weight. 

“I love you, Louis,” he repeats, “You have to know that. I don’t ever want to be distant with you, I hate it. But now that you realize what that feels like, maybe we can - we could work on getting some of that closeness back.” 

A hopeful touch in his tone has Louis’ head moving backward to look him in the eye. He’d been ready to simply accept the hug as more than enough, but that had sounded like Harry was suggesting something more than that. 

“Like - like,” Louis flounders, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. 

Careful hands drop from his shoulders to tug at the hem of his tee shirt. Harry’s brows raise just barely, subtle lines appearing on his forehead with his gaze lowered. 

“Do you feel comfortable enough to try something with me?” 

“Always,” Louis breathes, desperate for his touch. 

That at least gets him a small quirk of Harry’s lips. He turns to walk toward the bedroom, expecting Louis to follow without having to say it. Louis knows there’s a smirk on his face all the way up the stairs without being able to see it properly. 

When they’re inside the door, Harry waits for him to pass before he closes it, then heads over to the far wall to pull the curtains shut as well. Louis’ mouth waters involuntarily at the implication. 

Harry saunters back over to him, still subdued but slipping effortlessly into his role, shedding his coat on the way. It falls to the ground without care and Louis’ eyes trace the muscles underneath the shirt he’s got on. 

Undoing the first few buttons, Harry walks right past him over to a chair by the door. He drags it until it’s directly in front of where Louis waits anxiously on the end of their bed and sits casually. 

“Stay there,” he says when Louis goes to stand. 

Louis swallows several times to hide his excitement, doing strictly as he’s told. Across from him, Harry runs his eyes over the length of Louis’ body, curled up on himself in anticipation. 

“Undress for me,” he requests gently. 

Fumbling to do so, Louis grabs for his shirt first to get it off. The button on his jeans comes next, popping out so suddenly that he flinches before focusing on getting them down his legs. When he gets down to his boxers, he slides a finger underneath the band and glances up to Harry questioningly. 

“Are you comfortable taking them off?” Harry murmurs. 

He nods quickly. 

“Then take them off.” 

Louis waits for praise that never comes. That’s okay, he reasons. It will feel better when he knows he’s deserving of it. 

Subtly twisting until his back gives a satisfying pop, he sits back down on the edge of the bed when he’s fully nude. 

“Scoot back,” Harry directs, then, “Spread your legs.” 

A small noise dies in the back of his throat at the thought - appealing and terrifying all at once. Louis’ never been the keenest on the way he looks. He doesn’t much like his stomach or his thighs, hates the way his chin doubles when he looks down, to name a few. But Harry’s seen all of him before, so he bites the inside of his cheek and lifts his legs outward for his viewing, his prick and part of his hole on full display. 

It comes with a rush he hadn’t been expecting. Harry sits across from him still, unmoving as he catalogues Louis’ hesitant movements. He isn’t undressed at all except for his coat and the top of his chest peeking out underneath his low cut shirt. 

Louis  _ adores _ when he does this. Something about Harry being fully clothed while he’s completely nude makes shivers run up his spine. It’s obvious Harry has full control, and he isn’t even near him. 

“Touch yourself for me,” he says. 

_ Oh _ . Louis’ beginning to realize what this is. Harry’s not going to touch him at all, is he? 

Fighting the pout off his lips, he tries to be content with just being close to him. He runs a slow fingertip over his own nipple, hard already from the cool air in the room, and looks to Harry for approval. 

“Slower.” 

Despite his touch-starved instincts telling him to speed up, Louis’ hand slows to pinch at his skin unhurried. He digs a nail into the tip for the slight pain like Harry does to him sometimes, circling it with purpose afterward until the burn fades. 

He closes his eyes and pictures Harry’s mouth there instead of his own touch, the skilled tongue and sharp teeth biting into unmarred flesh. Leaving bruises, leaving reminders. Without realizing it, his hips have begun to undulate on the sheets underneath Harry’s hungry eyes. 

Under his lashes, Louis waits for direction. He switches to the other side in the meantime, repeating the sensations. It feels good - but it isn’t Harry. Louis’ pretty sure that’s the point. 

“Stop,” Harry says suddenly, “do you want to finger yourself until you come or would you rather fuck your own hand?” 

Trembling, Louis moans quietly at his words. He’s supposed to focus on the ultimatum he’s been given but his mind goes useless with that tone. Just condescending enough to make him a touch embarrassed, all the more needy for his body. And he can’t even have  _ that _ this time. 

“Fingers or hand, Louis?” 

“Fingers, I think,” he pants, already reaching a hand down to touch himself there. 

“You’ll stay on your back,” Harry decides, heading over to the nightstand to grab the lube in the first drawer. 

He doesn’t even allow Louis to touch his hand when he tosses it toward him lightly, and it lands flat next to his hip. Afterward, instead of going back to the chair, Harry stands over him next to the bed, his shadow almost completely covering Louis’ body. 

Something shifts as soon as he does. Louis freezes as Harry stares down at him. The angle or the pose or  _ something _ gets to him, the sheer dominance of the stance. His legs are spread slightly apart, his arms crossed so his biceps curve outward under the silhouette of the low lighting. 

It isn’t until Harry clears his throat that Louis realizes he’s still clutching the lube to his chest, too distracted to have done anything with it yet. He flips the cap with one hand and pours some on the digits of the one opposite to prepare himself. 

This is not going to be easy. Every time he used to finger himself when he was just a teenage boy experimenting in his bedroom it took an insane amount of effort to get himself off this way. He isn’t even really sure what made him choose it in the first place. If he’d fucked his hand, he’d be coming in minutes. 

Harry has a determined look in his eye, though, one that makes Louis feel like he could do anything if it was asked of him in this moment. He feels powerful even while he’s submitting to Harry completely. The rush is something he doesn’t think he’ll ever fully be able to comprehend. 

Once his hand is dripping with the clear liquid, Louis reaches awkwardly under himself to get to his hole. Harry’s head tilts to one side, halfway amused at how he’s going about it. Either way he’s going to hurt his wrist, whether he leaves an arm underneath his backside or if he tries to go from the front with his hard prick bobbing in the way. 

He’s embarrassed, the slightest bit humiliated by the view Harry must be witnessing. Louis is squirming as he fights to accept his own finger from the nervousness and the unfamiliar angle but he refuses to give up. His hot skin prickles with shame, the blatant need to be right, to be  _ good _ . 

The more he struggles the harder Harry seems to stare. When he finally gets a finger inside, he sighs and arches his back to try and hold onto the feeling. 

A few blissful seconds are all he gets to enjoy before it slips out again. Frustrated, Louis whines and doubles his efforts. He slides the finger through some excess wetness and repositions. 

The rhythm he picks up is anything but satisfying. He jerks away from one touch and leans into another, unsure of how to communicate with his own body. Harry takes such good care of it that Louis doesn’t usually bother paying attention, letting himself just absorb it instead. 

Now he wishes he  _ had _ paid attention. He knows part of it is the weird position, but most of his unfulfillment stems from the fact that Harry knows him this way more than he knows himself. If he’s being honest, he never felt a need to with how well he was satisfied. 

Harry seems closer when Louis’ eyes flutter open again and he gasps, twisting his hand until he just barely grazes his prostate with a fingernail. Louis curls in on himself, turning slightly onto his side to simultaneously hide from and chase the sensation. 

“On your back,” Harry reminds him, glaring harshly at where he’s shifted. 

“Harry,” he pants sweetly. 

“What is it?” 

“I need - need -” 

“You need me?” Harry muses, stepping closer, “Do you see what you’re missing out on? See what you could've had if you’d been good?” 

It hits a nerve that should dampen the mood but Louis’ hand only speeds up in response. Harry doesn’t try to make him decode anything. There wasn’t any build-up. Louis knows what he’s trying to prove. 

“Good,” he babbles, “Want to be-” 

He never finishes it for the moan that falls past his lips, trying to keep his shoulder flat on the bed. His wrist is aching, his arm beginning to cramp up uncomfortably. No matter which way he turns it, he can’t reach his spot. If he’s going to come from this alone, he’ll have to find it. Preferably soon, he thinks. 

He’d have come ages ago if Harry would just  _ touch _ him. His energy is declining rapidly, and Louis worries he’ll have to stop altogether soon. Back arching again, his calf muscle cramps and he yelps as his fingers slip out once again, twitching. He’s so close, but not close enough. 

Lip trembling, he sobs lightly and turns his head the other direction to hide it. He doesn’t deserve Harry’s help. 

“What’s wrong, Louis?” 

“I - my leg,” he whimpers, too worked up to try to lie about it. 

All of his frantic energy melts out of him through a gentle touch to his calf, Harry’s hand massaging the muscles until they relax enough to keep going. 

“Thank you,” he mewls, blinking hazily at Harry. 

His tall body backs away from him and comes to rest just above his head so he can look at Louis directly again. Louis’ dying to reach out and touch but he keeps his hands to himself, managing to get one digit back in before he’s instructed otherwise. 

“Fingers out,” Harry snaps, “Three. In your mouth.” 

Fuzzy around the edges, Louis struggles to keep up with the simple request. His finger slips loosely out of his hole and he brings them up to his mouth with protesting joints. He slips them past his lips in a daze and sucks idly. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t slow down. Relax, Louis, then start again.” 

Tears gather on the material underneath his head. Louis can feel them there as the frustration spreads to each part of his body. His prick is achingly hard, his balls feel heavy where they ache between his thighs. His mind challenges everything else, a whiny inner monologue of  _ please _ and  _ Harry _ and  _ why _ settling on the back of his tongue. 

He disregards all of that to focus on what Harry told him to do. He needs to relax. 

Letting his arm rest against his own chest, Louis suckles on his fingers to distract himself. Beginning with his toes, he flexes them back and forth until they’re loose again and repeats the process with his other limbs on the way back up. 

When the only proof he isn’t asleep is his prominent erection, he takes a deep breath. His hand slips back down to where he’s still warm, leaking everywhere from the lube and sweat. This time, he situates himself to push in from the front to give his arm a break. He brings a leg up, bent at the knee, and smiles inwardly when he isn’t scolded for it. 

It’s easier this way, he realizes. Louis keeps his breathing as level as he can as Harry’s shadow moves over him in a lulling pattern. Every time he opens his eyes, he’s still there. He hasn’t left. 

Louis’ head falls back to rest on the bed. His neck smarts but calms eventually with the pleasant distraction below. With every small thrust of his fingers his cock brushes against his arm just enough to keep himself tethered the way Harry usually does. 

Everything feels much better now, preening under the attention, but he still can’t find the right spot. Trying not to let it get on his nerves, he begins to unconsciously fidget again. Sheets curl up around him the more he slides different directions, anxious. 

“Curl your fingers and push up to the right,” Harry tells him. 

His entire body thrashes with Harry’s advice. The pressure on Louis’ prostate has his mouth falling open wide, back lifting off the bed once again. His tears have ceased but he feels the cool air on the previously wet areas as he gasps and stills and keeps his fingers there. 

He massages the spot endlessly, working himself closer and closer to the edge. Eyes snapping open, he looks up to Harry vulnerably, almost scared of how good it feels. 

“Harry,” he whimpers. 

“Come for me, Louis. You can have it, you deserve it.” 

That’s all it takes. Louis twists once more, body locking up fully for the height of his release. He vaguely registers wetness on his tummy, his upper thighs, his wrist. He lies there and lets it overtake him until he’s spent. 

When the aftershocks fade, he blearily tracks the movement of Harry’s hand to his own cock. He pushes his jeans and boxers down together, his wrist flying over it so fast Louis can’t comprehend it. 

He struggles to sit up on his elbows to get to him, to please him, but he doesn’t make it. Louis falls wakly back onto the bed just as Harry comes into his hand. Then he cries again. 

“Louis?” Harry questions, blinking his eyes back open, “What’s the matter?” 

It’s - he doesn’t know how to tell him. Before he’d been desperate but now it feels like a deafening slap to the face that Harry didn’t touch him at all  _ and _ he doesn’t get his cum on him, in him, anywhere. Sounding petulant even inside of his own head, he can’t do much but sob as his chest shakes with it. 

“Hey, talk to me, Lou. What happened? Too much?” 

Harry slides down to sit next to his head and Louis can’t help himself any longer. He musters up all of the strength he’s got left to throw his body sideways until his face is directly over Harry’s cock. Without giving him time to decline, Louis licks at the droplets of his release still fresh on his skin. 

Hissing, Harry grabs the back of his head but doesn’t make him stop. He nuzzles Harry’s crotch like a madman, nursing it until he’s confident he’s gotten everything it has to give. Harry’s fingers run softly through his mussed hair in thanks. 

Eventually, when his neck begins to hurt again, he lets his head drop onto firm thighs. He still isn’t completely forgiven. He still trusts Harry unconditionally to take care of him either way. 

So he doesn’t fight it when he’s lifted into the air, doesn’t tense or get scared when he’s set down on the chair with one of Harry’s shirts pulled lopsidedly over his head. He thinks Harry might have changed the bedding in the time it takes him to come back and cradle him to the bed but he isn’t sure. 

Louis settles under the sheets feeling like he’s learned a thorough lesson. He means to tell Harry that, to say  _ thank you _ and  _ I’m sorry _ and  _ I love you _ , but only the last one comes out. 

“Love you,” he says into Harry’s pec. 

“Love you, Lou,” he reciprocates. 

Oh well, Louis figures. That’d been the most important part anyway. He can say other things tomorrow. 

+

Being together again physically helped a lot. Louis can tell over the next few days. Harry doesn’t leave as much and has started cuddling him more like he used to. They seem to be communicating better, too. 

It feels a lot like serious progress until Louis tries to kiss him. 

They’re on the sofa together, Louis laid out sideways across his lap like usual, Harry’s arm supporting him on either side. They’d been talking about something Louis can’t remember, some new artist Harry heard about or a new song he liked. 

When Louis yawned Harry offered to take him up to bed with a soft smile, lips pressing to his forehead. Louis loves when Harry kisses him  _ anywhere _ , but he’s been missing the feeling of his lips on his. The entire time they’d been together the other night Harry hadn’t kissed him once. 

Taking advantage of the moment, Louis had pushed up on his arms and leaned forward, intent clear on his features. His eyes fell shut, head tilting automatically. 

Nothing happens. When he opened his eyes again, Harry had only stared at him with a stuttering frown. A prick of fear stabbing through him in the moment, Louis pulled back slowly. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I, uhm, it’s not you, Lou. I’m just not sure if I can, yet, you know?” 

Louis has another one of those moments where he’s completely lost before it all comes rushing back to him like a deeply, poorly repressed memory. 

Harry doesn’t want to kiss him because he’d kissed someone else. 

It makes sense, he figures. It doesn’t make it sting any less. Louis blinks away wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes and smiles ruefully. 

“Oh, yeah. I get it,” he nods. 

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to Harry’s jaw before pulling back and standing. Harry doesn’t carry him to bed that night, just slips in beside him much later and pretends he doesn’t feel Louis’ wet tears when he pulls him into his chest. 

+

He’d thought at first that Harry was done holding back when it came to touching him after the other night. Louis should've known he had more up his sleeve. 

Harry can read him like clockwork, is the thing. He knows when Louis’ going to get needy and when he wants to be cuddled, familiar enough with each of his moods to know how Louis feels before even  _ he _ does. All of it is equal parts frustrating and endearing. 

Trying to ignore the sting of the fact that it’s days later and Harry still hasn’t kissed him on the lips, it’s getting progressively more difficult to deal with the fact that he hasn’t  _ touched _ him either. 

Though he’d never admit it out loud, he’s beginning to think Harry doesn’t know him as well as he thought he did. Louis’ been giving him signals, walking around the house barefoot and half-nude, shifting purposely when he sits on Harry’s lap, leaning into his touch with quiet abandon even more than usual.

None of it’s working. So he takes a full day to work up his courage before going upstairs and knocking on the study door where Harry’s been working since that morning. (Louis knows this because he’d made him lunch earlier. When he’d brought it up, he  _ accidentally _ dropped a napkin and bent down to retrieve it, fully aware of his lack of undergarments. Still nothing.) 

He holds his breath when Harry beckons him inside. When Louis peeks inside he’s still got his face too close to his computer screen, wonderfully crafted lyrics created at his fingertips. Louis wishes he could write that easily these days, like he used to. 

“What’s up, Lou?” He asks without glancing at him. 

Taking a deep breath, he walks to the middle of the room until he’s standing directly in front of his desk, until Harry  _ has _ to look at him. 

“I wanted - uhm, I was going to ask you if we could,” Louis gulps, “I mean, you’ve been working a lot and I feel like -” 

Harry’s eyes don’t leave his as he leans back in his seat to listen attentively, waiting for him to finish. And Louis  _ knows _ he knows what he’s trying to say. 

He’s also fully aware of how desperate he sounds at the moment, asking Harry to touch him when it hasn’t even been a full week since they’d gotten off together last. But Harry hadn’t touched him then, either, and he’s so - he  _ needs _ it. 

Face blank, Harry raises a brow just slightly. 

“You know,” Louis motions, blushing, “Can we -” 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, love,” Harry links his fingers together and leans his chin on them, faux-confused. 

And now, well, Louis has to push down his frustration to figure out the right terminology to use. He’d been so aggravated that he’d been out to scream  _ just fuck me already _ but it doesn’t feel right. In the midst of this stalemate regarding his drunken mistake, Louis feels like it needs to be something softer, something that will get through to Harry and convince him of just how much Louis values him, not just what his body can do. 

“Will you make love to me?” He asks, burning bright red in his cheeks as he holds his breath, trying to speak his language. 

“No,” Harry says. 

Louis’ heart crumbles. Choking on sudden tears he hadn’t realized were waiting at the surface, he falters, blindly reaching for the door, stumbling. 

“Oh,  _ oh _ . I’m sorry. I didn’t - I’m sorry.” 

“Louis,” Harry calls, stopping him just before he leaves, “Come here.”

Fighting to conceal his sobs, he keeps his eyes on the ground until he’s standing right next to him, bottom lip wobbling. Harry tugs him sideways until he’s sat in his lap, his head falling just over his heartbeat. 

“Look at me,” he faces him, “I’m not going to make love to you just yet, alright?” 

Coughing, Louis tries to turn away from his gaze, embarrassed. More tears leak from the corners of his eyes. He wonders if Harry enjoys rubbing it in or if he actually has a point. Harry doesn’t let him hide. 

“It isn’t because I don’t love you, Louis, you know that. Just hold out for a little longer for me, okay? I can make you feel good in other ways for now.” 

Louis curses his body for immediately responding to the words. Even though Harry’s just said them, his hands stay securely above Louis’ waist. His brain is beginning to hurt. 

Surely this is another one of Harry’s lessons. He’s trying to prove a point here but Louis can’t figure out what it is. He feels too unsteady to think through it properly, to piece together the because. 

Bringing his legs up to his chest on Harry’s lap, Louis whimpers and huddles close. It’d taken a lot out of him to come and ask, an entire day of preparing mentally for the request. All for Harry to turn him down. 

He’s crying again, never really stopped in the first place. But now they roll down his cheeks one after the other, dripping onto both of them as his face contorts and he hiccups. When he blinks his eyes open, they’re so blurry he can’t make anything out. 

“Louis, love, shh,” Harry strokes up and down his arm, “This isn’t a no, alright? You can still have me in other ways. Just have to do one thing. Can you do that, love?” 

Nodding fast, Louis glances up at him hopefully. 

“You have to tell me what you want,” Harry continues. 

Brows turning in, Louis goes to tell him that he’s just done that. Before he can, Harry shakes his head like he already knows what he’s thinking. 

“Not that, love,” he says, “Need you to explain to me anything else you want and I’ll do it.” 

Something about the way he emphasizes  _ explain _ has Louis shifting interestedly. He takes a few minutes to think about it, using the gentle hand running over his skin to soothe himself. 

Louis thinks back to the shower he had this morning, the same one he’s been having  _ every _ morning just in case Harry decides he wants him again. 

“Uhm, I think - think I want you to - your mouth,” he finishes lamely, cringing at his words. 

“Where do you want my mouth, Louis? You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“On my- my arse,” he whispers shamefully. 

“Why are you embarrassed, love? You know you can ask me anything,” Harry squeezes him close. “You want my tongue in your arse?” 

Choking slightly from his earlier tears and the bluntness of Harry’s statement, Louis sighs unevenly. 

“Yeah, please.” 

Harry pats him twice to get him moving, Louis uncurling his body and standing awkwardly, hunched over in front of him. Harry’s gone back to looking up at him blankly. Taking matters into his own hands, he pushes his pants down hesitantly and sits on the desk, putting his crotch level with Harry’s face. 

“Like this?” He asks Harry. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

The response provides him no reassurance. Whimpering again, he accepts it without complaint and slips his shirt off as well. 

“Okay,” he says unsurely, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs a tiny bit more. 

Harry runs his eyes over the length of his body once before scooting forward on his chair, leaning down to dive right into what he’d asked. Louis stutters at the fast pace. 

“I - maybe, could you like, touch my nipples first, maybe?” 

It takes all of his pride to get it out. He can feel heat radiating from his face, burning humiliation inside of his veins. He isn’t fully hard yet, laying limply against his own thigh, and Harry usually gets him  _ excited _ before when they touch each other. It’s something Louis hadn’t realized contributed so much to their scenes. 

He can’t ask Harry to kiss him or be inside of him, which are the two things he wants most right now, but he’s pretty sure Harry knows that. Louis settles for this instead, waiting for the first touch as Harry changes trajectory. 

His head that’d been nearing Louis’ prick backs away, moving the opposite direction to look at his chest. Long fingers come up to slide over them lightly, just teasing the tips to hardness. 

Whining in the back of his throat, Louis shuts his eyes. He lets himself get lost in the feeling of it for a moment, reacquainting himself with Harry’s touch. It’s enough until it isn’t, and he shifts his hips to push his chest forward. But Harry follows him, scoots back more so the touch stays featherlight. 

Groaning lowly, Louis bites his lip. 

“Could you suck on them?” He gasps, Harry immediately mouthing wetly over him. 

He uses his tongue to suck gently on one while he fingers the other, alternating between the two. 

“And - and maybe, like, bite?” 

He keens and falls forward to cradle Harry’s head to his chest as his teeth clamp down. It feels so good that he can’t help himself from making noise, moaning loudly, less hesitant than he was before. 

If he closes his eyes and dissociates, he can imagine this is just a normal day.  _ They’re _ normal and Harry’s just doing this because he wants to, not because Louis was so desperate he couldn’t wait any longer. 

Hot shame runs through him but he doesn’t feel like crying again. Instead, he feels a rush of sharp arousal as Harry bites down particularly hard. Louis’ prick bobs against his stomach. 

“Okay,” he pants, pushing Harry’s shoulders away. 

Harry sits back in his chair again, hands falling away to rest calmly in his lap. 

“Can - will you put your tongue there now?” 

“Where, Louis,” he asks. 

“My arse.” 

“Say it altogether.”

Huffing, Louis spreads his thighs as far as they’ll go, until the muscles burn. 

“Will you please put your tongue on my arse, Harry?” 

He’s got his mouth on Louis in seconds, shooting forward to lick eagerly at his hole beneath his swollen balls. Losing his breath and eyes widening, Louis falls backward onto his elbows, staring helplessly at the ceiling. 

Harry seems to have become impatient too, not waiting for any further instruction. He swirls his tongue expertly around the tight rim of muscle, keeping his hands in his lap. 

The feeling flutters inside of him until he’s dancing on the edge, alternating between tossing his head back and shying away or chasing the touch. Either way, he’s just barely missing something. 

Between his legs and anywhere else, really, Harry knows what he’s doing, just like he does now. Knows how to make Louis come at a snap of his fingers. The issue is that he isn’t doing that. And from what Louis can tell, it’s on purpose. 

He tries to grind against Harry’s tongue but it doesn’t do much for him. Even getting a hand around himself doesn’t sound the most appealing after becoming accustomed to relying on Harry to get him off. Louis frowns, thinking back to what lesson Harry’s been trying to teach him. What could he possibly learn from this? He feels the frustration he felt earlier tenfold. 

It only takes him another minute or so to understand, Harry licking avidly around his rim and a bit inside, but never giving him quite enough. He’s waiting for Louis to ask. 

Because Harry  _ does _ know him as well as he thought. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he makes Louis ask, when he doesn’t just blindly provide for him even if they both need it. He’s still allowing Louis to see what life would be like without him there - emotionally, physically, and mentally. It would be awful, he’s decided. 

“Harry,” he says, pulling on his hair to look him in the eye. 

Staring up at him, Harry wipes his mouth obscenely with the back of one of his hands, the same eyebrow raised to hear Louis’ request. 

“Make me come.” 

Springing into action for a second time, Harry grabs him by the thighs and spreads him even wider than before, grabbing handfuls of his skin roughly to get a better angle. He tongues at him faster than Louis can comprehend, the barest hint of a fingertip at his entrance. 

Louis comes untouched, his prick pulsating an angry red just above Harry’s face. It shakes him so hard that he convulses as Harry keeps him still, cum landing on his chin and dripping down into Harry’s hair below. 

“I want - wanna make you come,” he slurs, shoving himself off of the desk to kneel on the ground. 

Harry doesn’t let him get that far. He grabs Louis before he can get on his knees, standing to walk him to their bedroom. 

“That’s okay, lovie. Don’t worry about me.” 

Blinking up at him, Louis whines. He can feel how hard he is against his bare arse as they walk, how much Harry is straining to keep himself standing upright. It must be painful, and Louis knows he hasn’t touched himself at all. 

“Please,” he says just inside the doorway. 

“It’s fine, Louis. You get in bed, I’m gonna go take a quick shower and I’ll meet you there.” 

Before he can stop it, his bottom lip trembles yet again. He clings to Harry as he begins to cry openly, unopposed to begging. 

“Please, please. I need to make you feel good, Harry, need to be good.”

He struggles, not knowing how to communicate it to him. 

“Louis, baby, shh. Why are you so worked up, pet?” 

Cringing at the familiar pet name, Louis shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve it. All he’s done today is take his own pleasure. 

“Don’t - don’t call me that,” he sobs. “Don’t deserve it.” 

“Hey, what’re you talking about, love?” 

Harry pulls him over to their bed and sits him down until he catches his breath. Louis tries to think of a way to make it make sense. 

“All I did was take,” he whimpers. “I  _ used _ you. I - I don’t like that and if you don’t let me - I need to  _ give _ , Harry or else it’s not - I’m just,” he shrugs jerkily, struggling for breath. 

“Okay, alright,” Harry concedes, kissing his forehead. “You can have it, Louis. Whatever you want. You don’t have to ask anymore.” 

Gulping in clean air, Louis pushes out of his arms and spreads himself out over the bed, nudging Harry’s arm to get him to follow. He stuffs one pillow underneath his head and opens his mouth. 

Harry scoots up beside him on his knees, seeming concerned. 

“Lou, are you - do you want me to use your mouth?” He asks quietly, thumbing over Louis’ bottom lip. 

“Please, Harry,” he mewls. 

The frantic anxiousness he’d felt slips out of him the moment Harry descards his boxers, settling himself over his chest, reminding him of their system. 

“You know if you ever need me to stop, for  _ anything _ , you squeeze me here, yeah?” Harry takes his hand and pinches his own thigh. 

“I know,” Louis nods, “M’green.” 

Rolling his lips together, Harry slides forward just a bit more, slowly, giving him time to change his mind. Louis lets his mouth fall open even farther, welcoming the thick, weeping head of Harry’s cock into his mouth. 

He moans around it graciously when the flavor hits his tongue, but doesn’t move his head. Now it’s Harry’s turn to take. 

Relaxing his neck and throat the best he can, he glances up at Harry who still seems concerned, holding his cheek with a big hand. Louis holds his gaze until he pulls back slightly and pushes back in until his mouth is full. 

Below his waist, behind Harry’s body where he can’t see, Louis isn’t hard. This isn’t about getting him off anymore, it’s about making Harry feel good the way he does for Louis all the time. But more than that, even, it makes Louis feel so happy he could scream, knowing that he gets the privilege of satisfying him half as well as he satisfies Louis. 

Focusing on taking shallow breaths in and out through his nose, Louis tries not to gag when Harry slides particularly deep. After a few minutes, he seems less worried and actually moans, spurring Louis on with his noises. Harry’s hand comes down to hold his cock, stroking the portion Louis can’t fit inside. 

Harry looks amazing above him. He looks big and muscular and decidedly dominant here, using Louis’ mouth for his pleasure. Louis still has tears in his eyes but they are no longer of sadness or upset. 

He spills heavily over Louis’ tongue, making sure all of it lands inside of his mouth before collapsing to the side and pulling him to his chest. Feeling it leak out the sides of his lips, Louis hurries to swallow as much as he can. 

“Thank you,” he says when his mouth is empty once again. 

“Stop thanking me Louis,” Harry shakes his head, supporting Louis’ tired body with his own, “You won’t ever understand how much this means to me - getting to take care of you like this.” 

Feeling sated now that he’s pleased them both, Louis lets himself relax into the sheets under Harry’s touch. He’s still missing his lips but at least tonight he got to  _ touch _ and be touched. Harry wanted him for years, slept in the same bed as him without ever getting to be with him the way he wanted. Louis should be able to handle this rough patch. 

_ Enough, enough, enough _ , he tells himself. Until Harry forgives him, this has to be enough. 

+

Harry’s been working on his first album for a long time now. Louis’ heard some of it so far, moody, soft melodies that get stuck in his head around the house. He hums them to himself sometimes when he’s anxious, happy that for a little bit longer they only exist in his and Harry’s heads. 

He apologizes for not kissing Louis when he comes downstairs but Louis waves him off, tells him to have a good day. He does understand, it’s just difficult to accept right now. It isn’t like Harry’s never going to kiss him  _ again _ . At least, Louis doesn’t think it’s like that. 

Despite knowing that, Louis mopes around the house all afternoon while he’s gone to the studio to discuss the logistics of the release. He’s happy for him and sad for himself and his brain is so loud he can’t think properly anymore. 

Louis settles into the couch in the living room and tries to distract himself with mindless television. He smiles when someone cracks a joke but the feeling doesn’t resonate, just sits lethargically on his tongue and in his tummy until it fades, too. 

The only thing that manages to shake him from his stupor is the front door opening and clicking shut again. Rushing to flip the TV off, Louis stands to go and greet Harry. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll get a kiss on his cheek today. 

Harry’s boots round the corner to the room before Louis can leave it, his stance brooding and tense. He seems tetchy, gaze flickering around the room twice before it lands on Louis.

“Harry,” he implores slowly, “what’s the matter?” 

“I don’t know, I feel so  _ wired _ ,” he blinks hard, opening his eyes wide. 

Louis crosses the room to get to him, pulling him into a reluctant hug he eventually relaxes into. His grip tightens up until Louis’ breath falters in his chest. 

“Let me help you,” he offers, “What can I do?” 

There’s a crazed look in Harry’s eye, his hands holding onto Louis’ skin so tightly that he’s sure the skin has turned white underneath his shirt. 

“I don’t know how to explain it, Louis, I need - today was shit. Nothing went the right way and I’m exhausted but I’m so worked up and I need -” Harry’s voice breaks. 

“What, Harry? What do you need?” 

“You,” he chokes, eyes wet and lip trembling, “I need to - need to take care of you.” 

“Okay, whatever you want, H. I’m yours. I’m all yours.”

“It won’t be like, a scene. I just want  _ you _ . Not anything else tonight.” 

“Please,” Louis whispers. 

This has never happened before, where it’s him being needy instead of Louis. Harry takes such good care of him that sometimes Louis forgets that he needs the same thing in return, just in different ways. He can make up for that. 

Harry’s hands don’t leave him until they’re up in the bedroom. He steadies Louis’ shoulders when he wants him to stop. 

“Don’t move,” Harry says politely, “let me just -” 

Louis doesn’t even breathe too harshly as Harry surveys him, nosing at his neck and running his hands over every part of his body. He checks him everywhere without an ounce of intent, simply examining him for anything he’s missed in the time since they’ve touched last. Louis’ heart flutters inside of his chest and he wonders if Harry can hear it in the quiet room. 

Once he’s satisfied, he lifts Louis’ shirt over his head, then kneels down to work on his jeans. Careful fingers fumble on the clasp but Louis doesn’t dare disrupt him now. He waits patiently until Harry gets it undone, then lets each of his legs be gently lifted at the knee to step out of them and his boxers. 

Harry moves to the side and folds all of his discarded clothing in a neat pile before he returns. Louis doesn’t mention it. 

“Louis, could you,” Harry struggles to get the words out, his face scrunching up like he’s ashamed, “d’you think you could -”

He gestures limply toward the ground near his feet and Louis scrambles to try and figure out what he wants. Harry seems on the edge of tears again, frustrated with himself. Acting purely on impulse and his intuition, Louis drops to his knees in front of him. 

It must have been what he was thinking. When his long fingers begin to caress the top of Louis’ head, Harry sighs gratefully and cups Louis’ neck in his hand. Firm and steadying, Louis shuts his eyes at the touch. 

At Harry’s feet, all of his worries seem to cease momentarily. The feeling of being able to turn over all of his stress rushes back into him at once, reminding him of what he’d foolishly sacrificed. Never again, he promises himself. How thoughtless had he been to think he could find this with anyone else? He’s missed it  _ so _ much, and it’s only been a few weeks since he last had it. 

Subspace has always been his safe space, cradled comfortably in Harry’s presence. Vaguely, Louis wonders if this is the opposite for Harry. If this is some sort of  _ domspace _ . He’s overwhelmed at the idea of being lucky enough to get to have Harry like that, so desperate to care for him. He feels like the luckiest boy in the world. 

Soft digits card through his mussed hair as he leans his head on Harry’s thigh. Louis feels like  _ he _ could cry now. It becomes apparent in these moments just how much they really do need each other. Louis’d been daft to try and deny it. 

It’s been a journey to try to come to terms with needing these kinds of things. Long nights of laying awake at night and wondering if he’s being bad or dirty, even longer days of Harry reassuring him that he isn’t a freak for allowing himself to have it. 

Hot tears leak into the fabric of Harry’s trousers. He tilts Louis’ head up gently, meeting his eyes directly. Harry wipes the wetness from his face and lets his thumb rest on Louis’ lips. 

Mouth opening automatically, Louis sucks on it as long as Harry lets him, eager to feel him everywhere he can. Still, he isn’t hard yet. Just being in his space again is enough right now to make Louis feel like he’s safe and loved and  _ good _ . 

Louis isn’t sure how long they stay suspended like that in the middle of their bedroom, but it feels like too fast when Harry asks him to stand again. He brings his hands underneath Louis’ elbows to help him, body surrounding him as he leads Louis over to their bed. 

Taking a great deal of care in the movement, Harry lifts him into his arms and lays him down on his back on the sheets before stepping back to rid his own clothes from his body. He folds those too. 

The phrase  _ making love _ is something that used to make Louis cringe. It felt like too much, too phony. When Harry said it to him, he’d gone along with it because it’d been nice to think that Harry loved him enough to call it that. 

On some levels maybe it’d even been because Louis hadn’t felt like he was deserving enough to be considered in that way. He’d just been lucky that Harry was willing to overlook all of his mistakes. 

Now, well - 

“Harry,” he calls. 

“What is it? Are you hurting? What do you need?” Harry’s head follows every one of his small shifts, scanning helplessly again over his body. 

“Make love to me,” Louis breathes. 

Harry freezes above him momentarily on his knees on the bed, stunned at his word choice. Louis holds his gaze. He’s said it sparingly before when he wanted to get a point across, but now he means it in every sense of the word. He needs Harry to know he’s serious. 

His lips come down to rest on his cheekbone, familiar. He can feel the ragged breaths coming through his nose but he doesn’t quite seem to understand yet in his frantic state. Louis tries to think back to how Harry communicates with  _ him _ when he’s under, though it’s all fuzzy memories. 

“Take care of me,” Louis rephrases. 

That seems to get through to him. Harry’s face contorts determinedly, rearranging Louis’ limbs until he’s satisfied with the position. Louis knows he could ride him like he does sometimes, or Harry could take him from behind where he’d be much deeper, but Louis wants it like this. It seems like Harry does too, settling his heavy hips between Louis’ open thighs. It’s a blur when he grabs for the lube to slick up his fingers even though Louis can see him clearly. 

Hazy while Harry fingers him open for his cock, Louis can only mewl and stare while he waits. Harry said he  _ needs _ to take care of him. For the first time Louis believes him, that it isn’t just a  _ want _ , just an appeasement of  _ Louis’ _ needs. 

His body is completely lax on the cool sheets, Harry’s warm breath ghosting over his face in stark contrast. Louis gasps as his fingers tread deeper, feeling along his walls experimentally. His neglected cock twitches where it’s cradled between his hip bones but Louis pays it no attention. Tonight, his body is Harry’s to do with as he pleases. 

Harry’s unrelenting eyes never leave his as he works up to three digits and a hint of a fourth, swallowing all of Louis’ whimpers with how close he is. Their noses bump together twice when Louis thrashes helplessly in his arms. 

He feels more than ready to accommodate Harry, but he keeps his lips sealed tightly shut, unwilling to jar him when he’s lost in his own head like this, taking such good care of him. 

Finally deemed open enough minutes later, Harry lets his hand fall away from the warm space and to his own cock, settling at Louis’ entrance without moving his gaze. Louis’ eyes flicker between both of Harry’s green ones as he pushes inside. 

“Oh,” his breath catches, fingernails flying up to Harry’s shoulders. 

“Gonna take care of you,” Harry grunts. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis whimpers in time with his thrusts, “Need you to.” 

Harry’s forehead drops onto his harshly without looking away. Louis’ entranced. He can feel his body being forced up the bed every time Harry moves inside of him but he feels frozen, connected to Harry perfectly, completely. 

He isn’t tied up but Louis doesn’t think he could move if he tried. He’s Harry’s. He’ll move when Harry wants him to. 

Both of Harry’s elbows slide up the bed until his big hands are close enough to hold Louis’ smaller face in his grip, thumbs smoothing tenderly over his blush. Both of their mouths are open but they aren’t pressed together. It feels like they’re trying to devour each other, spit and sweat and evidence of their intimacy everywhere around them. 

It doesn’t leave any bruises, won’t turn his arse red or leave fingerprints on the inside of his wrists, but it feels like more than that. It feels like Harry’s making love to his  _ brain _ , taking up residence in his heart as if he wasn’t already filling it up before. 

A pool of bubbly saliva rests on Harry’s pouty lips. Louis’ eyes are drawn to the way it reflects the light, stuck in somewhat of a trance at his actions. Harry leans back until his mouth is level above Louis’ hole and spits, the thick string dropping down from his mouth and landing wetly over where Harry’s cock rests inside of him. 

Louis clenches around him at the sight. A muscled arm reaches down between them to spread it around, slicking up both of them for an even easier slide before fucking back in. 

He’s aching to lock his legs around Harry’s waist but he stays still instead, lets Harry use him however he pleases without any worries. Harry’s hips relocate, lifting off of him for a second before they come back at a different angle. He hits Louis’ prostate head-on. 

“Harry,” he mewls, back arching into him. 

Harry slips a hand underneath his waist to hold him there, skin-to-skin. 

“My Louis,” he replies shakily. 

“Yours, m’yours.” 

He’s so busy watching Harry move inside of him that he misses the familiar build up in his tummy, the pleasure getting stronger and stronger as it accumulates. Harry’s thrusts are intentional and direct even in his current state, knocking the breath out of him with each one. 

“Gonna - gonna,” Louis warns. 

“Please, Louis. Come for me? Let me see you?” 

It doesn’t take much for him after that. Harry gets a hot hand around his aching prick between them, thumbing intensely over the leaking head. Louis’ entire body trembles as he tries to hold his gaze and comes. 

Harry fucks into him harshly even as he begins to get sensitive. Just when Louis thinks he can't take anymore, he pulls out. 

With a hand flying over his dripping cock, Harry comes all over him. From his chin to his own spent prick, all on his tummy and his arms. Louis can feel it rapidly cooling everywhere. He feels claimed. He feels  _ amazing _ . 

“Harry,” he whimpers again, tears coming back with the intensity of the feeling. 

He sobs with contentedness, basks in the way Harry fawns over him immediately afterward without even sparing a moment to recover from his own orgasm. 

“Hush, little one. Don’t move, I’ll take care of you.” 

Louis feels hands under his back, feels his body being lifted into strong arms despite the mess covering his entire front. He sucks on the skin of Harry’s shoulder to ground himself as he’s jostled around. 

They might be in the kitchen but Louis doesn’t open his eyes to check. He hangs limply off of Harry as he suckles at the area, spit collecting around his lips. There’s running water and the sound of glasses clinking, more movement before he’s being set down. Louis sobs again, blindly reaching out for Harry in his sudden absence. 

“I’m right here, my love. I’m not leaving you, never leaving you.” 

“Harry,” he cries. 

Apparently it’s all he can say, now. Harry doesn’t seem to mind that he can’t articulate anything past that, his forehead creased as he caters to him. He keeps a hand wrapped around Louis’ as he leans over to turn the bath water on. 

Through foggy eyes, Louis watches him set some things down next to the tub and turn back to Louis, lifting him underneath his armpits to set him down gently in the water. 

“Drink,” Harry murmurs softly, holding the bottle up to his lips, slipping in behind him. 

Louis leans back appreciatively into his chest and lets himself be looked after. After today he thinks he knows what it feels like to have nothing between them. Even before there’d been some doubt in his brain, a nagging fear that kept him from submitting fully. It’s why he used to run away, to get scared and  _ avoid _ . 

Like always, Harry has thoroughly proved that Louis is capable of things he initially believed he wasn’t. He’s pushed Louis just enough to make him a better person without erasing who he was before. 

He pushes his head up into Harry’s wandering fingers, gulping down the water being held to his lips. He gets berries next, straight from Harry’s hand. Eventually, Louis flexes his fingers and toes, the feeling coming back to them after going numb for a bit. He sniffs against Harry’s chest. 

“Take care of me so well,” he says, blushing, feeling slightly more normal in his own skin. He’s trying to give Harry the same reassurance he gives him. 

“Did I - I did? Was that okay?” 

“Was perfect, Harry. I needed that. So much. Thank you. I love you.” 

He’s babbling but it seems to soothe Harry’s nerves, feeling him relax further into the warm bath and into Louis. His muscles go lax as soon as Louis touches them, smoothing a hand over his tattoos. 

Harry makes him drink the rest of the water before setting the empty bottle down on the ground and moving Louis around to face him. His hand comes up to touch the cum on his skin that isn’t underwater, tracing the patterns, awe-struck. Louis lets him admire without care for the way it hardens on him uncomfortably. 

His fingers massage the thicker, still-wet globs of it further into Louis and Louis follows it with his eyes. He’s Harry’s again. For now, for always. 

Louis loves it when Harry comes inside of him almost more than anything else; the closeness, the feeling of it dripping out of him every time he tries to move. But this is something more than that, he thinks, because this time he can  _ see _ it. He’s too spent to get hard again right now but the image of his entire body coated in Harry’s come is something he’s going to remember for a long time. 

Regrettably, Harry wets a rag to remove it, bringing it up to begin at Louis’ shoulders and working his way down. It rinses off of him almost too easily and Louis frowns when he’s left unmarred. He likes the reminders. 

“So beautiful,” Harry murmurs, dropping the rag in the bath to cradle his cheek and bring his lips to Louis’ forehead tenderly. 

They sit in the still water until it runs cold and Louis starts to shiver. Making an indignant noise at his discomfort, he bundles Louis up into a fluffy towel and follows him back into the bedroom with his hands never leaving his skin in some way or another. 

He allows Louis one of his shirts and nothing else to sleep in, falling to the tops of his thighs. Harry takes his time tucking him safely underneath the covers before he slides into the other side and pulls him into his arms. 

“Do you feel better?” Louis asks sleepily. 

“Yes,” Harry rasps. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up.” 

“No, don’t - I needed that as much as you did, I think. I didn’t like that you were so upset, but I liked that you - that we need each other that way, if that makes sense.” 

With a watery smile, Harry looks at him lovingly. He takes Louis’ face in his hands again, holding his gaze. 

“I love you,” he says. 

“I love you,” Louis repeats. “Always.” 

“Always,” Harry echoes. 

Falling asleep in his arms is exceedingly familiar. Louis knows the feeling intimately, inside and out. But this time, with his entire body wrapped around his and Harry’s lips glued to the skin on his shoulder from behind, it feels a lot like a new beginning. 

Just before he drifts off completely, Harry presses his lips against his. 

+

“I think we need to talk,” Harry says early the next morning. 

Louis isn’t really sure why they’re awake. It sounds insane when he thinks about it, but part of him reasons that he knew Harry was anxious at the early hour and his body woke him up subconsciously. These days he’s much more inclined to buy into Harry’s soulmate theories than he was before. 

Either way, he’s awake. Coffee cup in his hands, he nods to Harry and walks to the dining table, sitting down while Harry gets settled across from him. The chair scoots out with a loud noise on the hardwood and Louis flinches. 

“I want to talk about last night,” he specifies, “None of that was planned and it was intense. How are you feeling?” 

Harry seems nervous again, taking sips of his tea to avoid awkward silence while Louis considers the question. 

“It was intense, but I liked it a lot.” 

“I don’t feel like it was very fair of me,” Harry explains. “I’ve been denying you to prove a point and then when I needed it I didn’t even bother asking you properly beforehand,” he sighs, “Can you explain it to me? From your perspective?” 

“It scared me at first that we need each other so much,” Louis admits. “I used to think maybe  _ I _ just needed  _ you _ and you were trying to make me feel better about it by going along with things I wanted in the past. But - after last night, I don’t feel like that as much anymore. It was actually kind of nice, except for I didn’t like that you were so anxious.” 

“Good,” Harry breathes, “that’s good, Louis. Thank you for telling me. That makes me so happy.” 

He leans over the table and seals his lips over Louis’ passionately, clutching at his cheeks with both hands. Louis inhales appreciatively. He’s never going to take advantage of kissing him again. But - 

“Can I ask - what happened yesterday? Like, what made you so upset?” 

Harry sighs. “I didn’t get much sleep that night, just thinking about everything. And then I had to get up early and head to the studio. It was nice for a few hours, then we had to meet with some people about some of the marketing and everything was so frustrating that it just all built up inside of me,” he explains. “By the time I got home I was going insane. I  _ felt _ insane. I don’t know, it’d been a while since we were just together without anything else, and I needed to feel  _ needed _ .” 

Louis nods as he finishes, understanding what he went through. 

“I feel like that too, sometimes.” 

“Really?” Harry breathes, looking relieved. 

“Yeah. I get like, uncomfortable in my own skin and it’s like you’re the only thing that can make it go away, when you take care of me,” he grimaces, “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it the right way.” 

“No, just like that. That was perfect.” 

Harry walks around the table until he’s on the same side, reaching down to pull Louis up into his arms. He takes Louis’ upper lip between his own, suckling gently on it and swaying them side to side. 

“I’m tired of this,” Harry says frustratedly when he pulls back. “I miss having you close all the time.” 

Louis bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that they could have been together the whole time because he knows why Harry did it. It was necessary, more for Louis than it was for him. He’s lucky Harry cares enough to let him learn from his mistakes without leaving him for making them in the first place. 

“Thank God,” he sighs, breathing in Harry’s scent through his shirt. 

_ Lucky, lucky, lucky, _ Louis thinks. He’s the luckiest in the world, and it’s high time he started acting like it. 

+

He’s cleaning out the bedroom a few days later as part of his ‘good boyfriend’ schtick he has yet to give up when he finds it. 

The floorboards had been disgusting and covered in dust when he’d bent down to clean the bottom drawer of the dresser that morning, so he looked around for the supplies and set to business as soon as he had the room to himself. 

Louis is the last person to ever willingly cook or clean, but today he’d woken up in the mood. Plus, he knows Harry likes things tidy and Louis has a bad habit of leaving random heaps of his stuff just laying out where it doesn’t belong. 

He’s on his knees now next to the bed, getting the last few areas he can reach. His back aches from how long he’s been at it but he’s so close to being finished that he powers through despite the twinges in his muscles. 

Louis’ too small to see all the way underneath, so he turns his head the opposite direction, lays it flat on the ground, and reaches as far as he can with the duster underneath the bed frame. 

With a hard thump, his knuckles hit the edge of  _ something _ under there, what feels like firm velvet. Brows turning inwards, Louis grabs it between two fingers and tries to pull it out. 

It is black velvet, a box nearly the size of both of his hands, and the front is engraved with silver cursive:  _ Louis _ . He wonders if this is a gift from Harry he wasn’t supposed to see yet, but the entire top of it is covered in more thick dust. It seems to have been forgotten there. 

Gulping, he sits up straighter on his knees with his feet underneath him and peaks inside. The lid itself is even heavy to get up, but Louis pushes past its creaks and moans until he can see what it is. 

He knows immediately he should have left it alone. Inside the box is a sleek, black collar. 

Dark, thin material is connected at the front with a silver circle, simple enough to wear without question although Louis knows  _ exactly _ what it is. It’s small and dainty but it still has that edge he craves, that reminder that Harry’s the one that wanted it there. 

Except - does Harry  _ not _ want it there? It had to have been collecting dust for some time now. Had he decided that Louis wasn’t as deserving as he thought? 

Louis struggles to breathe for a few seconds. He wants to - he wants to put it on right now. To feel the narrow leather around his neck, just tight enough so he doesn’t forget it’s there. He wants it so  _ much _ . 

But Harry isn’t home yet, and he would really be being bad if he just put it on himself. He has to deserve it first. 

It hurts more than it should when he shuts the lid. He lets it rest in his lap for a minute before raising a hand to put it back into its spot in the corner. Before he can, he hears Harry’s car lock out front over the soft music he’s got playing in the background. 

Hurriedly sliding it underneath the bed, Louis flips the light switch off and runs back down the stairs, pretending to have been dusting the bookshelf in the living room just as Harry rounds the corner. 

“Hi, love,” he hums, nosing at Louis’ cheek until he turns to kiss him. 

Louis relaxes as much as he can into the arms that circle his waist from behind but Harry knows him too well. He pulls back with a frown when Louis doesn’t respond. 

“Alright?” 

“Yeah,” Louis nods convincingly, “I’m just tired. Been cleaning all day.” 

“Okay,” he relents slowly, hands falling from his hips. “I’m going to go change out of these clothes.” 

Holding his breath, Louis listens to his steps until they fade into the bedroom before finally exhaling. The collar weighs heavy on his mind. He’d just promised to be open and honest with Harry, he thinks maybe he should ask him about it. It isn’t like he’d been snooping through anything, he’d just come across it innocently. Surely Harry wouldn’t be angry with him. 

Spinning around to head up there, he makes it halfway before Harry appears in the doorway. 

“Louis, did you open this?” He holds up the leather box in the air, glancing down at the step Louis’ on currently. 

“I - yeah. I did. I’m sorry. I was coming up here to tell you actually,” he scrambles, fingers flexing where he’s holding onto the railing. 

Harry meets him halfway. Still clutching the box, he puts a hand on Louis’ lower back and steers him toward the living room again. 

“I’m not mad,” he assures him, “I’m sort of glad you found it. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it.” 

Already twice as anxious as he had been earlier, he goes easily down onto the sofa when Harry nudges him. He sits and pulls Louis’ legs across his lap, setting the box down in front of them both. 

“How did you find it?” Harry asks. 

“I really  _ was _ cleaning,” Louis rushes, making Harry chuckle fondly, “I’d just finished everything else and thought I would do the floor, too. When I got to the edge of the bed I just reached as far as I could to get under it but then I felt it. I took it out and since it was all dusty I just figured you’d forgotten about it. I know I shouldn’t have looked, I’m sorry.” 

“Already told you I’m not angry, pet. I bought it a while back but I wasn’t sure if you were ready for that kind of commitment yet. Meant to talk to you about it sooner but we got  _ distracted _ for a bit and it’s just been sitting there,” Harry explains gently. 

“Oh,” he offers. 

He shifts around to avoid saying anything else, eyes still glued to the box between them. Louis can feel the phantom weight on his neck already. 

“So, how did it make you feel?” Harry prompts, rubbing his shoulder encouragingly. 

“Good. It was a lot, at first. But I really, really wanted it.” 

“Really,” Harry breathes, “you did? Will you tell me why?” 

Harry wants it all spelled out, then. Louis obliges with a small huff. 

“I like that it’s from you. Like that you bought it because you were thinking of me. Like that everytime I wear it it’ll remind me I’m yours.” Louis pauses for a second, then considers, “Why did  _ you _ want to buy it?” 

The column of Harry’s throat bobs when he lets it fall backward to rest on the couch, seeming overwhelmed at the idea. 

“God, Louis, you don’t even know what it does to me,” his hips shift underneath Louis’ weight, “the thought of you wearing something that so obviously shows that you’re mine, that you  _ want _ to be mine. We both know how much you enjoy reminders,” he teases. “This would be - every time you pass a mirror, everytime you talk, everytime you  _ breathe _ you would feel it here.” 

His large hand encircles Louis’ throat loosely. He knows Harry can feel his hammering pulse, worked up from his words alone. 

“Want that,” he whispers raspily, eager to keep the pressure on his neck. 

“You can have it,” Harry says, “If you want it, you can have it, Louis. It’s yours.” 

Fingers leaving Louis’ neck to reach for the box, Harry clicks it open and goes to take it out. Louis stops him. 

“Do you think you could like, wait and give it to me when you think,” he swallows, “when you think I deserve it?” 

Inside of his brain he curses his own mindset. He wants nothing more than to begin wearing it right this second, but the more submissive part of him wants to earn it first. There’s a reason it’d been under their bed for so long. After being with Harry, Louis knows firsthand how much better something can feel in the end if he’s patient. 

“Of course, of course I can, baby. Whatever you want.” 

He presses his nose to the inside of Harry’s neck and breathes in deeply to calm himself. For the most part, Harry’s forgiven him for everything. Still, Louis isn’t quite sure if he’s forgiven himself yet. When Harry gives him the collar, he can finally be sure. 

“When it feels right, yeah?” Harry suggests, stroking a hand down the side of his hidden face. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods. 

The box rattles shut as Harry shoves it to the side again, under one of the couch pillows so Louis won’t have to keep looking at it. He knows him so well. 

His  _ collar _ is in there, he thinks. He doesn’t bother trying to contain his grin when Harry pulls back to look at him properly, doesn’t let it slip from his face as he kisses him for the millionth time. His pulse slows eventually but the image sticks in his mind. At the right moment, he reminds himself. Harry will give it to him when it feels  _ right _ . 

+

Louis’ had his own surprise planned for a while now, momentarily undeterred by the collar incident. It arrived just this morning in a small pink box with a bow around it, left in their private mail box downstairs so that no one sees the label. 

Skipping happily back to the lift, Louis cradles it to his chest. He’s been anxious about it since he ordered it all those weeks ago. Now that it’s finally here, he can’t wait to try it on. 

Harry’s kinks have always been somewhat of a mystery. There are the obvious ones, the things they both get off on easily like everything from the original list, but those are too easy. Louis knows there are certain things lurking underneath the surface that Harry really wants that he won’t explicitly ask for. 

The sleeping situation had been one of them, when he’d been so embarrassed he could hardly get the words out to suggest it. Despite his nervousness, Louis didn’t have a problem with the idea. In fact, when he was jolted awake from Harry’s sharp, surprising thrusts, he found he liked it even more than he thought he was going to. 

Being able to give him those things sends a rush through his veins, always eager to please. Luckily, the things that he’s pretty sure get Harry off make him go just as starry-eyed and desperate. Like this inkling he’s got about the package in his hands. 

He lays it out and steps back to admire the delicate packaging. Everything is light pink from the outside pattern to the thin, fluffy wrapping paper, except for the black bow surrounding it. The contrast excites him already and he thinks vaguely about keeping the silk bow for  _ other _ things. 

Getting his hands on it feels surreal. Within seconds he’s got the tie and the paper on the ground, focused on the neatly folded garments organized at the bottom. 

He’s familiar with the top portion of the outfit - a soft, pink-creme colored slip that falls to his hips, leaving a slip of skin bared between the hem and his pants. Louis feels delicate when he slips it on immediately, the material like butter over his chest. The sight of his nipples barely poking through it has him aroused already when he glances into the mirror. 

Underneath the slip is a separately wrapped selection of other items that he has yet to try. He wants this for Harry but he  _ really _ wants this for himself as well. At this point in their relationship, he feels confident enough to try them. 

The panties match the color scheme of the rest of the set, the feminine lace corresponding with the trim on the slip. A white garter belt and stockings sit directly to the side of them. Every piece in the box has tiny pink bows littered across the fabric in places he assumes will accentuate his assets nicely. Slipping his trousers off in a hurry, he nearly trips trying to get the other clothing on. 

Surprisingly, the nerves he’d felt when he first learned about male lingerie no longer simmer in his belly. He’d come across a website for them years ago now but he’s always been too insecure to purchase anything. Once he’d gone into Victoria’s Secret with his sister and he’d spent the entire time staring longingly at the assortments without allowing himself to touch or try any of them on. 

It doesn’t feel forbidden anymore. It doesn’t feel wrong or bad or anything he’d been afraid of before. As he pulls them the rest of the way up his legs, Louis sighs a breath of quiet relief. 

He leaves the garter belt and stockings on the bed for now. He isn’t finished getting ready yet, and Harry won’t be home for another few hours. 

Walking to the bathroom doesn’t feel weird either, the fabric loose enough to move with him accommodatingly instead of bunching up. Louis turns the water on in the bathtub and grabs the items he’d hidden under the sink a few weeks back. 

Scented shaving cream and a brand new razor stare back at him invitingly. When the water is full to the brim, he shuts it off and sits on the edge without getting in so that his outfit doesn’t get ruined. Perhaps he should've done this naked, he figures, but he couldn’t wait any longer to put them on. 

Louis soaps up each of his legs and inhales, coating his sparse hair with a thick layer of the cream. This feels like a big deal. 

And it is, really. When Louis was a lot younger and he was more promiscuous, he’d ventured just slightly into this territory. It hadn’t been anything intentional really, not that he realized at the time. 

The guy he’d been fooling around with was never particularly supportive of anything Louis liked, but especially not anything like this. At a game of truth or dare with his friends, Louis’d been dared to switch clothes with the person on his left. 

She was a pretty girl, he remembers thinking, with long brown hair and blue eyes. Her frame was soft and feminine, the long dress she wore a light pink color. It’d matched her skin tone perfectly. 

Somewhere down the road he’d realized that he was noticing those things because he wanted to possess those qualities, not because he simply admired them. 

Accepting that had been a long process leading up to now. Louis shivers at the memories that weren’t as pleasant. 

After they’d gone in the other room to change clothes, the girl had complimented him endlessly, telling him he looked amazing. And - Louis  _ felt _ amazing in it. Too young and buzzed then to do much but appreciate the feeling while he had it, he’d sauntered back out to everyone else behind her confident lead. 

Before he’d even sat back down, his sort-of boyfriend at the time had laughed so hard he choked on his drink. He’d pointed and said Louis looked disgusting, that he needed to take it off. Louis still remembers the final insult. 

He’d made dead eye contact with him in front of everyone and grimaced openly. 

“You look even worse in that than you do naked,” he’d hissed. 

Louis broke up with him that night. He hasn’t tried to wear anything like that again since. 

Last month or so he’d put on just the top part, the slip, to see how it felt. When he didn’t hate it, he’d slipped a sweater over it to keep it covered and sat alone until he worked up the courage to let Harry see it too. 

It hadn’t been all that monumental to him, but the way Harry’s eyes lit up when he found out wasn't difficult to miss. His hands had stilled as his breathing faltered, and Louis could tell he was wondering if he had on matching panties underneath when his hands fell instantly to his arse. 

If that hadn’t been proof enough, Louis still remembers the first time he’d been spanked in their hotel room. Arse up over Harry’s lap, fistfuls of his skin in his big hands, murmuring about how good he would look in a pair of them. 

He’s said this before but he’s beginning to realize the importance now - he isn’t as codependent on Harry as he used to be but his confidence in Louis is something that has helped him become increasingly more confident in himself. Each time he praises him or acknowledges one of his achievements, even if it’s small or insignificant to anyone else, Louis’ heart soars. 

He never would have had the courage to order this if Harry hadn’t reacted that way in the study all those weeks ago. Louis wants this, in some ways he always had, but now he feels strong enough to let Harry see him in it as well, to embrace as much of that side of himself as he wants. 

Louis drags the razor up his calf to his knee, careful not to nick himself with the sharp edge. He runs a finger through the trail of skin now visible. It’s smoother than it’s ever been, sending another happy jolt through his body. He grins and continues where he left off. 

Vanilla scented lotion is set out on the counter, his and Harry’s favorite, for when he’s finished. He feels soft all over when he uses it normally, so he bets it will feel even more amazing after there isn’t any hair to cover. 

A stinging pain catches his attention back to where he’s shaving around his ankle, red appearing rapidly from the small cut. He hisses and wets it to cleanse the area, then keeps careful to avoid running over it again. 

Pouting, he moves to the other leg. He’ll probably have to put a bandaid on that which is  _ not _ very sexy. Harry probably won’t care, he imagines, knowing it’s the thought that counts and how much of a big deal it must be for him. The stockings should cover it up anyway. 

He finishes relatively quickly after that with his full focus on the task all the way up to where his panties start, wiping off the last of the shaving cream and pulling the plug at the bottom of the tub to wash it all away. Louis moans accidentally as he swings his legs over the side again, feeling them slide against each other without the usual roughness. 

His reflection in the mirror stops him when he reaches for the lotion. His hair is growing out again just slightly, curling around his ears from the humidity of the water. The pink looks just as good on his skin as he remembers it looking nearly ten years ago now. When he turns just slightly, the prominent curve of his arse is even more obvious than usual. 

And now his legs fit the look, too. Even through the reflection a few feet away he can tell that his thighs are smooth, shiny when the bathroom light catches on them. Smiling to himself, he grabs the lotion and goes to lather it on. 

Harry should be home in another couple of hours now, which is exactly how Louis planned it. He’s got enough time to get comfortable in his own skin first this way. 

It helps massively knowing that Harry wants this so badly. He would never judge anything Harry wanted to try, so he knows it can’t be  _ too _ weird. Harry’s want gives him a security blanket over the situation so that he can test out his own interests without feeling overly exposed. 

In times like these Louis is overwhelmed by how grateful he is for him. He’d still be stuck in the past if he was alone, too scarred by his past to ever try anything like this again. He tries not to dwell on the memories, rubbing the last of the cream into his thigh. 

As an afterthought, Louis trails back to the bathroom and sifts through Harry’s nail polish collection until he finds a shade that matches what he’s got on. Smirking when he sees one, he pulls it out and sits on the bathroom floor to coat it on. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when he’s finished. It’s almost a perfect match of color and it adds another subtle touch to the overall look. Louis stands and poses with his hands on his hips when they’re dry. 

There’s only one more thing to do, laid out ready for him next to his pillow. This portion doesn’t seem as daunting since he’s already got on the panties. In fact, he’s somewhat excited to see how they’ll look on. 

Something about each piece all put together makes him feel powerful enough to let go of his insecurities enough to smile. To grin, even, twirling side to side in front of the mirror to watch the ruffles flow and settle around his hips, his belly button peeking out through the front. 

Giggling happily, he flexes his feet in the stockings to experiment. They scratch against his skin as he walks downstairs but it doesn’t bother him at all. Instead, he enjoys the light pressure of the connection between the socks and the corresponding lace counterpart around his abdomen. There’s even a bow on that, smaller than the other ones but just as blush-pink. 

He feels delicate as he floats around the house. Light on his feet, his cheeks stained the same color as the fabric. As much of a personal journey he’d just embarked on, Louis can’t ignore the way his prick is already poking out the panties on the side. 

Poorly contained laughs make their way out of his lips the more he anticipates Harry’s arrival. While he waits, Louis opens a new note on his phone to answer all of the questions he knows he’ll be asked when he walks through the door. 

Harry will want to know what he’s okay with, which names he wants to be called by and what positions he likes. Popping a pink hip, Louis thinks about it. 

The list ends up being short ultimately since he likes Harry to decide for him when he can. Aside from writing down a few pet names and descriptions he wants to try out, everything else should be normal. 

He copies and pastes it into a blank text and presses send before he can convince himself not to. He’d wanted this to be a surprise but if he waits, he’ll have to hold off so that they can talk things through before getting to what he wants. Louis wants to cut out any extra time. As much as he likes the set, he can’t wait for Harry to rip it off of him. 

Or maybe, Louis theorizes, he’ll leave it on. He never knows which one he’s going to get with him. Perhaps he’ll like the look of the ruffles bouncing as he fucks him, the smooth silk on the side of his cock. Yeah, Louis’ glad he texted him beforehand. 

There is no response. Harry reads it immediately but doesn’t ever give any comment on the insinuation, not that Louis thought he would. 

_ Baby _ , he’d typed out the names he’d like to be called a few seconds ago,  _ darling, love, babygirl _ . Under that, an even dirtier list of references to body parts he’s alright with. To keep himself from getting too excited he avoids thinking about those just yet. 

It isn’t much for now, since he’s just barely scratching the surface of this sort of thing, testing it out for a second time and hoping it goes better than the first. If he ends up liking it, it could open an entirely new door for them. 

He startles when the sound of tires on gravel echoes outside, the lock turning and the door slamming shortly after. 

Harry stands in the doorway, hands at his sides, mouth open like he’d been breathing heavily. 

“You’re home early,” Louis smiles shyly. 

“You’re damn right I’m home early,” Harry grumbles, crossing the room to him quickly, “Do you have any idea what -  _ fuck _ , Louis, look at you.” 

Pulling back to scan his eyes over the outfit, Harry gulps. Louis feels bright happiness fill him up from his toes to his eyebrows, giggling, pleased with his reaction. Because he’d been early, Louis hadn’t had time to worry about anything before Harry was just barging in and seeing for himself, no time to talk himself out of anything. 

“Baby,” he groans, pressing a kiss to his lips, “I know you texted me so we wouldn’t have to do a lot of talking but the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. You have to tell me if I say something you don’t like, yeah?” 

Louis nods, “I know. But I trust you. And this is all new for me too, I want to try some things out and see what we like, like we usually do.” 

“Okay, we can do that.  _ God _ , Louis,” he whines, lips falling to his neck. 

“You really like this, don’t you?” Louis grins. 

“You have  _ no _ idea.” 

Louis swallows and tilts his head to the side so Harry won’t mistake his tears for discontent. Instead of getting flashbacks to the last time like he thought he might, Louis feels secure. He feels pretty and delicate and, most of all, wanted. 

He brings his hands up to wrap around Harry’s shoulders the longer he mouths at the skin around the strap of his top. Already impatient, Louis lets him continue for a few minutes before tugging on his arm. 

“Take me to bed?” He asks coyly. 

“Yes,” Harry growls, halfway across the floor before he can blink. 

Falling into step closely behind him, Harry’s big hands settle just underneath the edge of his slip, thumbing at the freshly bathed expanse of skin. Lips attached to his neck, Harry trips a few times in his rush to get them into the bedroom. 

Unable to wipe the smile from his lips, Louis watches him as he kicks the door open and back shut again, ushering him to the bed as he undresses in the process. Louis falls back onto the sheets with a bounce. 

“Look at you,” Harry repeats quietly. 

Once he’s down to his boxers he moves to stand between Louis’ open legs. Harry barely smooths a finger from the top of his stockings, tracing the connecting piece up to his panties until Louis’ head falls backwards. 

Pulling back again, Harry’s hands reappear at Louis’ fabric covered feet, massaging the soles. He’s being proper  _ spoiled _ tonight, then. Expert thumbs dig into his muscles and Louis wonders how Harry knew he was sore. Walking around all day with no shoes on their hardwood always leaves behind a nagging phantom ache. 

Harry’s touch moves up slightly to his ankles, fingers easily wrapping around the circumference entirely. His hands stop over the bandaid Louis put there this afternoon even covered by the stockings, still burning slightly when he presses down. 

“S’this a bandaid?” Harry questions, “What happened, doll?” 

“Oh, I just, uhm, it’s from shaving earlier.” 

“You’re lovely,” he smiles, reaching up to thumb across Louis’ cheek. “Although I don’t like that you’ve hurt yourself.” 

Harry frowns, leaning down to press a kiss to his ankle softly over the plaster. Louis gulps, feeling like a little kid that scraped his knee and is getting it kissed better. But, like, in the best way possible, he reasons. 

“You look so pretty, babygirl,” Harry whispers tentatively, searching Louis’ eyes for a response. 

Louis moans and arches his back, breathless at just the pet name. If that alone makes him feel this good, he’s sure he won’t be able to last long once Harry  _ really _ gets going. 

“Thank - thank you, Daddy,” he remembers, muttering into the sheets next to his head. 

He wanders higher, pushing his thumbs into Louis’ calves to rub away any tenseness remaining there. When he’s finished he catches Louis’ eye with a smirk and leans down until his lips hover over just above the trim of the stockings. 

Soft kisses are pressed to his thigh as Harry’s hand grips him under the knee. Louis thinks he hears him say something along the lines of  _ so soft _ but he can’t be sure. He alternates between each leg, back and forth until Louis can feel hot breath over his panties. 

“How do we feel about  _ ‘princess’ _ ,” Harry asks thickly. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Louis gasps, “definitely yes.” 

Harry licks his lips. His eyes travel from Louis’ to the thickening bulge underneath his lingerie curiously. 

“Can’t believe I get to see you like this,” he says, lips nearly touching the fabric and making Louis squirm. “Can’t believe you  _ let _ me see you like this. Gonna worship every inch of you, princess, like you deserve.” 

Louis chokes down a sob and tries to hide his face but, like always, Harry knows when he’s upset. 

“Hey, hey,” Harry pets him, slowing his movements, “talk to me, baby. What’s got you so worked up? You know you don’t have to do this for me if you’re uncomfortable.” 

“I know, I just hadn’t realized - I want this  _ so _ much. I’m so -  _ thank you _ ,” he settles on, already sniffling again. 

He  _ hadn’t _ realized how much he wanted this. The way Harry’s talking to him, the softness of the garments and the inherent femininity of the circumstance seems like an entirely new world. It isn’t something he wants all the time, he doesn’t think, but the small escape for a while feels like some kind of  _ heaven _ . 

And Harry’s right there with him, just as happy about it as he is. Even though he’d known it was something Harry liked, he still had doubts about how he would react in the moment. He knows now there isn’t anything to fear. Louis feels amazingly lucky all over again. 

“Oh, honey. Of course, anything you want you can have. You can relax, I’ll take care of you.” 

“I know,” Louis smiles, closing his eyes, “I know you will.” 

Harry breaks from his role to take Louis’ bottom lip between his own. It’s just as gentle as everything else around him seems to be right now, full of love and acceptance and reassurance that it’s all okay. 

“Daddy’s good girl,” Harry praises when he pulls away, squeezing a handful of his arse. 

“Oh,” Louis gasps, chasing the touch. 

Forcing Louis’ legs open wider, Harry settles between them and presses down. With his knees planted firmly on the bed, he holds himself up over him. He uses both hands to rub Louis’ nipples through the practically translucent material of the slip. 

Whining at his tender approach, Louis lets him take his time and makes an effort to keep his body on the mattress while Harry explores. 

He does so leisurely, his lips tracing lightly behind his every touch. Wetness appears over his nipples that Harry’s teased to complete hardness through the blouse, warm saliva from his mouth turning cold once it hits the air in the room. 

Louis’ tummy tenses when it gets its own attention. He’s never understood why Harry likes that part of him so much but he definitely is  _ not _ complaining, not when Harry licks over his stomach and his belly button like he can’t get enough. Louis bites his knuckle to keep from moaning too loudly. 

Before he’s even fully recovered from it, Harry’s eye-level with his prick again, concealed thinly by the pink layer of silk. 

“So wet for me,” Harry murmurs to him, “this all for me, princess?” 

When Louis glances down, there’s an obvious dark patch on the fabric, right where he’s been steadily leaking since Harry got home, maybe even a bit before. He groans. 

“For you, Daddy,” Louis says, his hips fighting to rut up into the air. 

“Daddy’s gonna eat you out first, yeah? Get you even more wet before I fuck your sweet little cunt,” he grunts. 

“Oh, my God,” Louis mewls, hips lifting off the bed in anticipation. “Please,  _ please _ .” 

“Hush, princess, Daddy’s got you.” 

Harry doesn’t bother taking the time to get them off, simply moving the panties to the side and nosing at Louis’ taint gently. He digs his nails into his thigh and spreads him open, pink tongue slipping out just enough to glaze over the opening of his hole. 

“Daddy,” Louis chokes. 

There’s a hand around his prick next, slipping underneath the front of the underwear to wrap around him lightly. Louis jerks, Harry’s finger dipping into the mess of precome gathered there. Once two of his fingers are coated in it, he pulls them carefully back out and places them over Louis’ opening. 

“Don’t even need lube,” Harry chuckles, spreading more of it around to loosen him up. 

Eyebrows turning inward, Louis’ mouth drops open silently. That’s - he’s so  _ wet _ for Harry that they don’t even need anything else. 

A finger slips inside on an exhale and Louis clenches around it at first, reminding himself to stay lax so that Harry can get inside of him sooner. When Harry’s hot tongue returns to prod at him around the digit, he isn’t sure if he’ll even make it that far. 

Louis usually dreads this part because it’s what separates him from Harry. It’s the part where he has to wait because his own body is unwilling to cooperate and requires careful stretching until he can accommodate what he wants. Tonight, he’s enjoying it thoroughly. 

It feels like he’s floating on their bed, fluffy pillows surrounding him, soft linen underneath, lace and silk covering his freshly shaved body. Harry’s fingers feel like a part of him now, stroking against places inside of him that Louis couldn’t possibly reach if he tried. 

At three, Louis draws the line, no matter  _ how _ good it feels. He doesn’t want to come like that tonight. 

“Hazza - Daddy,” he babbles, flinging a hand down to pull him up. 

“What is it, sweet girl?” 

“ _ Oh _ \- need it now,” Louis breathes, “Please.” 

Harry slips four fingers inside of him and leans up to swallow his surprised gasp, removing them completely before abruptly doing it over again. He continues a few more times as if to test if he’s truly ready, then readjusts to hover above him again, wiping the wet hand on the sheets beside them. 

“Daddy’s gonna fuck his babygirl,” Harry growls, sliding his boxers off and lining himself up between his legs, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess? Want Daddy inside that needy little cunt?” 

“Want it,” Louis slurs, nodding. 

He moans when a smooth thigh grazes Harry’s rough one, the sparse hair prickly where Louis’ removed his. 

Louis stills when Harry slides inside, inch by inch until there isn’t any space left between them. Everything goes silent, only the sound of Harry’s stilted breaths in his ear. Foreheads pressed together and mouths open, Louis holds his gaze steady. 

He can feel it when Harry moves to slide back out again. Louis whines in protest though he knows it’s a necessary vacancy, all the more worth it when he fills him to the brim again and Louis exhales. 

Harry’s hands rest on either side of his jaw as he begins to work up a rhythm, rarely leaving him empty for more than a few seconds but pausing each time he’s fully enveloped inside of Louis as if to savor the feeling. 

“I’m going to come inside of you,” Harry pants, “Want Daddy to fill you up, get you nice and drippy with me?” 

Gaining his voice back, Louis can only mewl weakly underneath him in response, offering his body vulnerably to be taken. His toes curl in the stockings where he’s got a leg thrown over Harry’s hip. With every movement he can feel some part of the ensemble, a chafe of the lace against his skin or a pink bow trapped somewhere between them intimately like a secret. 

“Gonna have to plug you up afterwards, baby, so none of it gets out. Gonna knock you up, make you swollen with me,” Harry groans, continuing. “My baby.” 

That, what Harry’d just said, hadn’t been on their list but Louis nearly comes at the image it paints inside of his head. Though it goes unnoticed under Harry’s fast paced thrusts, Louis spreads himself even wider in eager invitation. 

Lips press to his, Harry’s hands moving to grip the dip of his waist over the displaced slip. The weight is firm but not harsh, a reminder instead of a command. Harry’s hips usher out any other coherent thought from his body, reduced down to a few pleas for his release and  _ Daddy _ . 

Jolting from a particularly hard thrust, Louis calms once again when Harry pets at his hair soothingly and stills inside of him. He begins to make tight circles instead, never once leaving the tight heat of Louis’ body in his pursuit. His weight presses down on top of him more than it had before, Louis’ leaking prick finally gaining some friction. It pushes on his lower stomach, on where he knows Harry’s cock is inside of him, on where his prostate is stimulated every few seconds. 

Harry holds his hand and kisses the back of it, surely able to tell at this point when Louis is close. 

“Your  _ cunt _ -” Harry swears, “squeezing me so tight, babygirl,” he pants in Louis’ ear. “Will you come for me, princess? Come for your Daddy?” 

He grabs onto Harry’s hand tighter as it rocks through him, his quivering shoulders bracketed by Harry’s broad chest, lost inside of his own release. 

It floods Louis’ insides at once, feeling familiar and incredibly different under the context of the scene. He finds himself tearing up again when it begins to leak out around Harry’s softening cock. 

“No, no,” he whimpers, “in, Harry, Daddy, want it in,” Louis babbles. 

“Hold on, lovie, breathe for me.” 

Louis struggles to follow the simple instruction. Eyes clamped shut, his chest shakes as he feels Harry reach around to the nightstand. 

“M’gonna pull out, pet. Need you to keep it all in for me, can you do that?” 

This time he does listen, clenching as hard as he can as soon as Harry slips out of him. As soon as he begins to feel the absence, there’s something else prodding at his rim. Whining, he shifts toward it. Anything to keep Harry inside of him. 

The object gains pressure until it pops inside of him as well, effectively plugging him up with Harry’s come. They’ve never used the plug before, but Louis’ glad Harry bought it a while back for times like this. 

“Thank you, thank you,” he tells him, leaning into him when he lays down. 

“Precious girl,” Harry murmurs, kissing him, “did so well for Daddy, so sweet.” 

Harry pulls him close and scratches his fingernails over Louis’ back on top of the slip. The large plug should feel too big, too unfamiliar, but Louis sinks into the foreign weight like it’s already a part of him. He hums contentedly when Harry places his thumb inside of his mouth, comfortable and finally satisfied, devoid of the incessant itch that’d been lurking under his skin all day. 

Finally, he feels Harry lean one more time to retrieve something else. Soon soft fur is being pressed between their chests, cuddled underneath Louis’ chin. Without opening his eyes, Louis recognizes it immediately. It’s the bear Harry won him forever ago, one eye missing and a spot on it’s back that they’ve had to patch up several times for the stuffing that comes out of it. 

“Sweet boy,” he says again, when Louis’ eyes are closed. 

He smiles brightly around Harry’s thumb. He needed this, that much is obvious, and he couldn’t be happier that Harry was the one who gave it to him. But, at the end of the day, Harry’s right. Louis will always be his boy. 

+

They have Lachlan over for dinner the same week. Louis feels awful that he scared him off, wanting to make it up to him somehow. And he wouldn’t be so sure he  _ had _ scared him off if not because he used to at least say hello to them in the lift. Now, he dodges eye contact and scurries away at his earliest opportunity. 

He’d never said thank you for the gift basket either, which Louis was halfway expecting. Tonight he plans to hopefully soothe some of the uncomfortable tension with Harry by his side, to prove that things are okay again. 

Louis smiles at the thought. Things really are okay again, for the most part. Having Lachlan over is going to be some much needed closure for everyone involved, he’s convinced. 

“He doesn’t  _ hate _ you,” Harry shakes his head, slipping the freshly baked bread from the oven. 

“He doesn’t  _ like _ me,” Louis laments, “I don’t want him to feel awkward. He’s a very nice guy and I think I really freaked him out. What if he tells someone, or -” 

“Louis, love,” Harry hums, caging him in against the counter, “Lachlan isn’t going to tell anyone. He’s lived next to us for years, I think he would’ve done it by now. Everything’s okay, yeah?” 

He places a kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose and gives his hips a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Sighing, Louis leans into it. Before he can come up with a rebuttal, there’s a knock at their door. 

“I’ll get it,” Louis slips underneath his arm. 

He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, lets an easy smile ghost onto his lips. Then he opens the door. 

“Hey, Lachlan,” he tries for casual. 

“Uh, hey, Louis,” he nods, awkwardly holding out a paper bag to him. “I brought some wine.” 

Taking the bottle from him, Louis leads him to the kitchen where Harry’s finishing the last of their dinner. 

“Lachlan,” Harry greets warmly, “Thanks for coming over, man. We’re just about to set the table.” 

Louis pulls out three glasses and brings them to the dining room, circling back afterward to set out their plates and silverware before Harry brings the food. He feels like a proper housewife. 

“Thanks, love,” Harry smiles as they pass each other, pecking his cheek. 

He  _ really _ likes being a housewife. He’s going to let Lachlan see just how good he can be. 

A tossed salad is set in the middle of the three of them, preceding the chicken masala dish. Harry’s even set out fresh bread as an appetizer and Louis’ stomach grumbles on its own. He’s always loved Harry’s cooking. 

It isn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it’d be when they all get seated. Harry makes conversation with Lachlan while Louis pours their drinks, handing one to each of them. 

Dinner goes so well that Louis begins to think that Harry isn’t even going to bring it up, but he knows he’s wrong when Harry eyes him halfway through. He waits until Lachlan is loosened up a bit from the wine, laughing loudly at one of his jokes to clear his throat, grabbing Louis’ hand underneath the table. 

“Look, Lachlan,” Harry begins, “without going into too much detail, I know what happened the other night may have been sort of - upsetting, but we wanted to let you know that everything’s fine. And I’m very grateful you happened to be there, so, thank you.” 

“Oh, uhm, yeah. For sure, mate. You guys are - you’ve always been so nice to me, so.” 

“Thank you,” Louis adds again. 

“It was no problem. I’m glad you guys are okay,” he nods. 

Harry grins at him from the side, fingers tightening around Louis’. They exhale at the same time, another tiny coincidence that has the word  _ fate _ looping around inside of his head. He grips Harry’s hand back harder. 

They’re okay. They’re still okay. 

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Harry nods. 

+

Louis blinks hazily, his hands tied to the headboard and his legs wide open on the bed. He’s in the middle of the mattress on his stomach, a spreader bar attached to his ankles so that he can’t shut them. Without any real intent to get out of them, Louis tugs at the ropes around his wrists. 

“Eager to get out so soon, are we?” Harry smirks, admiring the view from behind him. 

And Louis would tell him no, except that he’s gagged, too. 

The material of his panties is firm on his tongue, saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth onto the pillow underneath his head. They’ve had this planned for a while now and already it’s surpassing all of his expectations. 

He tries to moan his denial to Harry but it only comes out as a weak mumble, unable to be heard from where he’s standing. 

“You look so good like this,” Harry says, approaching the bed and running a soft touch over his back. “All tied up and desperate for me to touch you.” 

Before Louis can articulate any sort of response, Harry’s bringing a flat hand down onto his arse. Hard. 

Yelping, he tries to calm himself when Harry pets at him gently once again. 

“Color?” Harry asks, sliding the panties from his mouth so he can answer. 

“Green,” Louis groans. 

The gag goes back in immediately, the cotton somehow familiar to his taste buds now. Harry’d asked him before whether he wanted to have his eyes or his mouth covered, but Louis chose mouth. He likes to see what Harry’s doing. Plus, the idea that he can’t refuse, can’t fight back gets his blood running straight to his prick. 

There isn’t any real threat, of course. They’ve got tangible cues that would alert Harry if he ever needed to stop, but Louis  _ really _ doesn’t see that happening. Already feeling too worked up to last very long, he tries to breathe through his nose to calm down. 

Another hard smack lands on his sensitive skin and he thrashes, pulling at his restraints. 

“Gonna give you what we talked about, yeah?” 

Harry’s warm presence lifts from the bed and Louis hears him cross the room to their closet. He tries not to fidget too much with his excitement, knowing what he’s going in there to get. 

He hears the belt buckle as it swings against Harry’s leg on the way back. It sounds like he’s letting it dangle purposely so that it clicks and tings every time it moves. The panties in his mouth are nearly soaked through with his spit-filled moans. 

Louis bites down on them to brace himself when he feels the mattress dip. Harry tugs on his hips roughly, situating him how he wants. 

“Hands and knees,” he mutters. 

With little strength, Louis strains to keep the exact position he’d been molded into, his arse now high in the air and ready for whatever Harry’s going to do to it. 

One last smooth caress on the back of his thigh is all the warning he gets before Harry’s bringing the folded belt down onto his skin, right over both cheeks and just barely grazing his hole. Louis screams. 

“Color?” Harry demands more harshly, tugging the fabric out again. 

“Green, green,” he gasps, twisting so that his hips are higher, unconsciously begging for more. 

Stuffing it back in, Harry knees over him until he’s back where he was. This time, Louis hears it whistle through the air before it lands on his flesh, his reaction delayed by a few seconds as the pain sets in after the initial strike. 

“Oh,” he tries to say. He’s reduced down to noises he didn’t even know he could make, whining wantonly around the gag with his hands tied uselessly to either side of the bed. 

With the spreader locked tightly around his ankles, he can’t escape from the impact, can’t shut his legs so that the belt won’t hit the most tender parts of him. But Harry knows what he’s doing. He knows how to give Louis just enough of the pain he craves and he knows how to soothe the ache after he has. Louis feels like he’s levitating. 

Just once the belt strikes him on his upper thigh and he blanches, fingers grasping at the course thread of rope to keep himself stable. Louis’ hips ache to grind down on the sheets but he keeps them up, keeps himself presented so he can take whatever else Harry wants to give him without complaint, so he’ll be  _ good _ . 

The following minutes are a blur of sharp pain and mind-numbing pleasure, mixing together in his head until he feels high. He hasn’t felt Harry’s skin in so long, the only thing that keeps him here on earth. 

He hasn’t kept count but he knows Harry stops at fifteen because that’s what they’d discussed beforehand. He’d gotten just enough to be able to feel it for days afterward but too little to go completely under. Body wriggling at the absence of touch, he tries to get Harry’s attention back on him. 

“Hush, pet,” he soothes, “I’m right here. Gonna fuck you now, ‘kay? Just like I said I would.” 

_ Daddy _ spills from his lips into the wet cotton but Harry doesn’t understand. He tugs backward on his waist and lines himself up, teasing his cock at Louis’ lubed entrance. It’s just as wonderful as it is every time when Harry sinks into him to the hilt. 

Louis relishes the feeling, his toes curling and his balance shifting. He feels weightless save for the restraints on his wrists and ankles and where Harry is inside of him. 

His head lolls to one side as he begins to really fuck him hard, the noise of their skin slapping together deafening in his ears. Louis could listen to it for hours. He arches his back as far as it will bend to display himself even more. His skin burns each time Harry forces himself inside, the fresh welts protesting the quick slaps of their bodies together. 

Growling, Harry pounds into him so much that the ropes pull at the headboard every time, thudding against the wall in time with the jerky movements. Usually Harry keeps things equal, makes sure that Louis is pleased thoroughly throughout before he focuses on himself. He doesn’t know why it’s getting him off even more that it seems like Harry is just  _ taking _ now. Using Louis for his pleasure first before anything else. 

Suddenly, the panties are yanked from his mouth and the neatly tied knots are being undone with nimble fingers. The bar between his legs is unlatched and loosened before he can no longer feel it at all. 

Harry pulls out and flips him over onto his back in a rush. Grasping for consciousness, Louis twitches restlessly, trying to piece together what’s going on. He can just barely make out Harry’s long body reaching over the side of the bed, feeling around. 

With the gag out of his mouth, he still struggles to speak. 

“H - wha-” he stutters, hoarse. 

Sitting up again on his knees, Harry pulls out the same box from the other day. He uncaps it quickly while Louis’ brain is still a few steps behind him. Tossing the empty container off to the side, he kneels down and slides back into Louis just as he fastens the collar around his neck. 

Louis comes with a wail, feeling loved and protected and light, the leather cool against his throat - his  _ collar _ . He blacks out. 

+

“... so much, Lou. Can’t believe how good you were for me. Just amazing, my love.” 

Louis fades back into consciousness slowly. 

“Mm,” he mumbles, slapping his dry lips together. 

“Here,” Louis registers Harry saying, “drink, little one.” 

The rim of the water bottle feels like a shock on his tongue, too cold for the warm cocoon he’s created. He refuses it at first but Harry persists. 

Gulping it down in shallow takes, he accepts it until Harry pulls it away again.  _ Harry _ , his brain repeats, _ Harry, Harry, Harry. _

“What is it, my love?” 

He’d been saying it out loud, then. Louis doesn’t even care. In fact, he’s so content that he just wants to curl up with him and fall asleep until morning. Before he can, his stomach growls loudly, echoing in the quiet room over the fan. Harry picks up on it immediately. 

“C’mon,” he says, “Let’s get some food in you, baby.” 

Harry scoops him up and stands, heading for the stairs. In the process, Louis realizes he’s clean now. He doesn’t feel sticky or uncomfortable anywhere and he’s got on a long tee shirt and some of Harry’s loose boxers. 

He whimpers when he gets dizzy, pressing his forehead into Harry’s collarbone. 

“Too fast,” he slurs. 

“Sorry, darling,” Harry hums lightly, slowing his pace. 

They end up at the kitchen table eventually, after some maneuvering with Louis balanced on his hip. He’s too out of it to mention it now but his obvious strength from his workouts is incredibly sexy to Louis. Even after a mind-blowing orgasm he’s picturing being manhandled into submission. 

Outwardly, Harry can’t tell. Louis’ smaller body is draped over his side limply, exhausted and wired at the same time. His brain is awake now, but the rest of him is still stuck somewhere else. 

The wooden chair creaks when he pulls it out to sit down, bringing Louis to sit sideways across his lap with his legs out to the side. Louis relaxes back into him without bothering to make any other sort of effort. 

Wrinkling his nose, Louis smells food. He uses the rest of his strength to glance over, whining at Harry curiously. 

“Are you hungry, little one?” 

His stomach grumbles again in response. 

“I think you are,” Harry chuckles, kissing his temple. 

As soon as the fork is raised to his lips Louis recognizes the food as leftovers from the night before. The steak he’d ordered and brought home has been cut into small pieces along with his potatoes. Louis wonders if he’s really so dazed that he hadn’t noticed him cutting it up. 

It feels like it takes too much effort to open his mouth and chew the food. Harry tugs on his lower lip with his thumb gently. 

“Open for me, love. There you go,” Harry encourages. 

He stares at Harry through half-shut eyelids as he places bites onto his tongue. The time they did this with the fruit was nice, arousing, even, but this is so much better. The simple act reduces everything that’s usually complicated about their dynamic down into something that’s easy for him to comprehend, even in his current state. 

“Precious boy,” Harry murmurs, feeding him attentively. 

Being taken care of is something he struggled with growing up. With so many siblings and a single parent, it was a far off fantasy to ever be held like this. Then when he was old enough to date and sneak out to meet guys, he’d always felt weird about giving up any control regardless of if he was on the receiving end or not, almost too hesitant to even allow himself to get off with someone else. Those few seconds where he was out of it were too much of a risk back then. 

With Harry, he’s never felt that way. In fact, it’d been so difficult to  _ not _ immediately surrender to him that he’d tried to run away from it at first. He’d been scared then and he’d been scared just last month too, but this is so much better. Giving in is so much better. 

Each time he swallows another bite he can feel the collar against his neck. 

Thinking is beginning to make his head hurt so Louis tries to clear his brain and just let himself be cared for. He does feel stronger now that he isn’t as hungry, but he’s reluctant to let go of the headspace. 

He’s never been under this long that he can remember. And he wouldn’t be so sure he was still under if not for the way he still can’t speak properly, can’t get his limbs to move the way he wants them to quite yet. He figures it must be the collar. 

“Feel better?” Harry asks, pushing the plate away after he’s finished the potatoes as well. He rests a hand on Louis’ stomach and rubs back and forth. 

Louis opens his mouth to say  _ yes, thank you _ , but nothing comes out. He settles for a nod. Instead of reprimanding him, Harry grabs him by the chin and kisses his lips once, twice, pecking the top one and then the bottom until Louis giggles and shifts in his arms. 

“There’s my boy,” he coos. 

They leave the empty plate on the table for tomorrow. Sliding a hand back under Louis’ legs, Harry carries him up to the bed without stopping for anything else. 

“Feel alright?” He asks, “You back with me yet, baby?” 

Willing his voice to work, Louis shoulders closer to him in the bed until they’re facing each other. Harry flips the lamp off and settles with an arm around him. 

“Here,” Louis says. 

“Sleep now, love. You’ve done so well today, just perfect.” 

It should get old, the feeling Louis gets when Harry tells him that. The butterflies that flit around in his tummy, the pleased rush he gets knowing that he was good. It doesn’t. Louis lets the low murmur of Harry’s praises and the weight of his collar lull him to sleep. He’s been  _ good _ . 

+

They go to Harry’s mum’s for Louis’ birthday and Christmas, per Louis’ request. With a flight set to leave at five-thirty in the morning, Louis grumbles his way out of bed after his alarm to pack a suitcase. He is  _ not _ a morning person. 

“Should have packed last night,” Harry sing-songs, arms crossed behind his head, sprawled out across the sheets with one eye open. 

Louis takes a sideways glance at Harry’s packed suitcase next to the door and scowls. He sifts through their closet without a noise, yanking the shirts he likes off of their hangers and stuffing them inside of his own bag. 

“Do you need help?” Harry appears behind him. 

“I’ve got it, thanks,” Louis snaps. 

He tugs at the faulty drawer of their dresser, the one that always somehow gets stuck only when he needs inside of it. Louis pulls on the knob angrily the longer it stays firmly shut. Huffing at it under his breath, he puts both hands on it and tugs as hard as he can. 

Harry’s fingers come up to rest on top of his gently but Louis shoulders him off. 

“I’ve got it, Harry,” he repeats. 

Louis braces himself one last time and jerks it as hard as he can, losing his grip and falling backward into Harry’s chest with a thud. Chuckling, Harry sways him back and forth in his arms until Louis relaxes again. 

“Hazza?” He whispers. 

“Yes, my love?” 

He pauses, then, “Will you help me?” 

It takes all of one twist of the knob at Harry’s hand to croak open, Louis’ socks staring condescendingly back at him. 

“Thank you,” he sighs. 

Harry turns him sideways to kiss the corner of his lips before moving to take a shower and get dressed. 

“You are  _ so _ not a morning person,” he breathes a laugh, disappearing into the bathroom. 

The clock reads four-fifteen when Louis glances over at it. With the airport thirty minutes away, they don’t have much time. Louis uses the mirror in their bedroom to dress himself and fix his hair, then slips into the bathroom with Harry to brush his teeth. 

His collar sits on the nightstand when he heads back out to zip up his bag. He slips it into the bottom of the suitcase automatically, hidden underneath Harry’s gifts. Even if he doesn’t wear it, it makes him feel secure just knowing it’s there. 

“You ready?” Harry asks, already dressed with a towel around his head. 

“You look funny like that,” Louis giggles, poking at it. 

“Love you too,” Harry snorts, “You know it doesn’t dry correctly if I don’t leave it on for at least ten minutes.” 

“Yeah, yeah. You and your complicated beauty routine.” 

Louis kisses him deeply, preventing him from responding. When they pull apart, he still does. 

“You know my good looks are the foundation of the relationship. I can’t just be effortlessly gorgeous like you,” he teases. 

“No, I suppose you can’t,” Louis grins, leaning in again. 

Harry indulges him for a few minutes, until Louis’ struggling for air, then pats him twice on his bum. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

Like a true gentleman, Harry carries his luggage to the car without complaint while Louis slips into the front and turns on their heated seats. He watches him as he goes back to say goodbye to the doorman, then settles comfortably behind the wheel. 

“I’m really excited,” Louis tells him. 

“Yeah?” Harry grins, glancing up from the gps. “That’s good, my mum loves having you over.” 

Louis nods. “I love being there.” 

Harry takes his hand as he pulls out of the drive and onto the road, stroking his finger over the soft skin after he kisses it. 

It isn’t that Louis doesn’t want to see his own family, but lately Harry’s just feels a lot more homey - comfortable. Louis feels like he belongs there. And he loves his siblings to death, but sometimes even they feel a bit distant despite his efforts to see them regularly. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” 

“What are you talking about, Lou?” Harry pulls a face, “You don’t ever have to be invited here. S’family, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Louis nods, smiling sleepily, “family.” 

He falls back asleep before they reach the airport. 

+

The flight passes by quickly with Harry next to him. Staying awake feels impossible at first but he’s kept alert with terrible knock-knock jokes and poorly timed attempts to tickle him, annoying the small crowd of people they had to share the plane with. 

Baggage claim is better, although they have to dodge several crowds of people on the way out. Luckily, they make it to their rental car before too many have noticed who they are. 

“No peeking in the backseat, okay?” Harry points at him, “You don’t get your gifts until the actual day.” 

“Fine,” Louis relents dramatically, dropping back into the seat. 

“Good boy.” 

Louis sticks his tongue out at him. 

Anne’s house isn’t far from where they landed, only two towns over and a quick stop to refuel. Louis’ foot taps anxiously the entire way, eager to see her and Gemma again. 

“Do you think we could make cookies again?” 

“Of course we can, Lou, anything you want. M’just glad you’re here with me,” Harry kisses the inside of his palm sweetly. 

They reach the house just past ten o’clock in the morning, pulling into the familiar driveway next to the other cars. The front door is thrown open and Anne and Gemma rush out before they can get their suitcases out. 

Louis waits patiently while they fawn over Harry with a smile before they turn their attention to him. 

“Louis,” Anne says, Gemma yelling  _ Lou _ at the same time. 

He falls comfortably into the group hug, catching Harry’s eye over their shoulders. Squeezing them extra tightly, he hums his hello. 

“It’s been  _ way _ too long,” Gemma complains, tossing an arm around his shoulders, “You’ve got to catch me up on all of the dumb things my brother has done since we last spoke.” 

“Okay,” Louis laughs, hesitating, “should I get my bags?” 

“I’ve got them,” Harry shouts. 

When he walks in the house it feels just like it did last time, like it has every time before. Like some kind of relief. 

“We’re doing your birthday on Thursday,” Anne tells him, “then we’ll do Christmas after.”

“Oh, no, I know you guys like to open presents on Christmas eve, I don’t mind.” 

“We are  _ not _ skipping your birthday, Lou,” Gemma says warningly, pinching his cheeks. 

He wants to say something else about how he doesn’t want to break their traditions, but he can’t get anything out around his grin. 

Harry saunters in with their bags on his shoulders, one in his hand he sets down next to the door. He sighs and goes to hug Anne again tightly. 

“Do we have the stuff to make those cookies from last year? Lou was saying he wanted to make them again.” 

She opens the cupboard and pulls out the ingredients, “Sure do,” she smiles, “we’ll make them on your birthday.” 

Gemma’s arms tighten around Louis’ shoulders as Harry approaches them from the side. 

“Can I have my boy back now?” He smirks. 

Blushing at the statement, Louis lets himself be manhandled out of Gemma’s arms and into Harry’s without much of a fight. He buries his face in Harry’s shirt so they won’t point it out. 

Sometime later they all settle into the living room to catch up. Louis sits with his legs across Harry’s lap like he does at their flat, reminiscing with Anne and telling Gemma all of the embarrassing stories he’s collected since they met last. Miraculously, the baby books don’t come out this time, though Louis knows he’s seen them all back-to-front multiple times. 

Finally, Louis feels like he fits. 

+

Louis doesn’t have a gift. He feels awful about it but he just hasn’t found anything he thinks Harry would like. But he’s seen the number of presents Harry brought for  _ him _ taking up space in their luggage and underneath the tree downstairs. He’s determined to find something. 

Gemma accompanies him to the mall. She’d been the only one up this morning when Louis came downstairs to make breakfast, and he’d panicked outright about what to get him. 

Earlier he’d had hope at her cheerful response but now that they’ve been shopping for an hour or more, he’s beginning to get discouraged. He knows she can tell. 

“Harry likes candles, yeah? Sniff this,” she holds one up to him to smell. 

Grimacing, Louis pushes it away. 

“He likes candles, yeah, but it doesn’t feel,” he searches for the right word, “it doesn’t feel personal. That’s like, a super surface-level gift.” 

“Well I guess I’ll just return all of the candles I’ve bought you guys then,” she sighs, teasing him, already off to somewhere else. 

He laughs and follows closely behind. He does have some things already, some of his favorite sweets and a new cologne Louis knows he’s been wanting. But none of that has any sort of sentimental value. Louis wants to make a statement like Harry always does, to give him a gift that he’ll remember, he just isn’t very good at that. 

“You know, I’m really glad you decided to come with him,” Gemma says, looking at something on one of the shelves. 

“Really?” Louis chuckles. 

She moves to the next display, holding up more options which Louis turns down. 

“Yeah. It gets boring with just H,” she explains obviously, “you’re much more interesting.” 

“I’m not sure about that but, thank you,” he smiles at her. 

Gemma’s eyes fall to his hand clutching his own bags. Her gaze lingers on his promise ring. Louis tilts it up self-consciously, blushing because she knows what it means. 

“Also, he’s been wanting to bring you home for years. We like to see him so happy.” 

“I -” Louis stutters, “I’ve been over plenty of times before.” 

“I mean like, as more. You’ve only been over twice since you guys were proper together. Mum and I couldn’t believe it when it finally happened.” 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “I couldn’t either.” 

The rest of the time in the store Louis zones out happily, nodding at her stories though his mind lingers on her earlier words. He catches the end of her sentence as they reach the end of the aisle. 

“He’s so in love with you I’m pretty sure you could get him a  _ spoon _ and he would think it was the best gift in the entire world,” she rolls her eyes. 

They leave the shop and go next door, a warmly colored living room display right in the middle. Surrounding it are rows of home decor categorized by room and some other small knick-knacks Louis’ eyes travel blankly over. 

“I’m gonna look over here,” Louis tells her, splitting and going a different direction. 

He actually does manage to pick out some things, an apron that says  _ Kiss the Cook _ across the chest, rainbow printed salt and pepper shakers, and matching Home Sweet Home charms to go on their keychains. Still, it all feels a bit indifferent. 

Dropping all of the items into a shopping basket, he keeps browsing through the other aisles until he runs back into Gemma. 

The further he explores, the more varied the items become. He runs across book shelves in the very back, an entire section of antiques, and a children’s area. He’s about to head back to the front but he freezes at the end of one of the displays, a tiny onesie hanging by itself. 

It catches Louis’ eye immediately, light yellow stripes with a small outline of a teddy bear embroidered on the front. The smallest size in the store, it’s unmistakably for a newborn baby. 

His fingers reach out to touch the fabric tentatively, soft between his fingers. He knows Harry would love it upon first glance. And Louis isn’t ready for kids yet, is probably still years away, but he does want them at some point. He wants them with  _ Harry _ . It won’t erase their fight from before but he thinks this will make quite the statement. 

“Louis,” Gemma calls, “You coming?” 

Louis stuffs it in his cart and keeps walking. 

“Coming, Gem,” he smiles. 

+

He wakes up Christmas eve with Harry’s mouth around his prick. It isn’t quite as nice as when he woke up to Harry already inside of him but he  _ definitely _ isn’t complaining. 

Louis stretches, tensing his limbs around Harry’s head underneath the covers. Biting his lip to keep from moaning, his lips widen around a smile, hands drifting down to plant themselves in his hair. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” Harry purrs, poking his head out with a smirk. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Louis giggles. 

Harry trails kisses up his body until he reaches his lips, teeth clinking together slightly with their grins and uncaring of morning breath. Then, he slides promptly back down and swallows him again. 

He’s always been better at this part than Louis is, able to take his length without even trying all that hard. Instead of being jealous, Louis takes advantage. He has to bite down on his hand to keep from whining and waking someone else up, eyes glued to the popcorn ceiling of Harry’s childhood bedroom. 

It isn’t long before he’s spilling down his throat with Harry massaging every last drop from his balls. He kisses the tip playfully until Louis cowers away, then drops onto the mattress beside him. 

“Let me,” Louis begins, ready to return the favor. 

“No need,” Harry waves him off, “Already took care of it. Besides, not done with you just yet, love.” 

Pulling away to glance down between them, there’s a dark patch at the front of Harry’s sweats where he presumably got himself off while he had Louis’ prick in his mouth. 

Speaking of his prick, it twitches at the thought and Louis moans into his neck. Harry laughs, kisses his cheek. 

“Shower?” He suggests. 

At Louis’ nod he checks to make sure the short hallway is vacant before carrying him in there and setting him down on the edge of the tub. It takes him too long to run back to grab more clothes, his hand awkwardly holding the front of his pants. 

Louis assumes it must be early because there had been no light coming in from the window in his room. It’s nice, he thinks, to spend some time with just Harry before anyone else today. 

“Okay, up you get,” he helps Louis stand and undress, then makes sure the water is the right temperature before he steps underneath it. 

Hot water runs down his back and he hisses with how good it feels after the flight and long car rides and nights sleeping on an unfamiliar bed. Harry steps in behind him and turns him into his chest, wetting his hair and massaging it with his fingers. 

“So I was thinking,” Harry begins. 

“Mhm,” Louis hums amusedly. 

“We’ve done the mirror thing, we’ve done the public place thing,” he kisses Louis’ neck wetly. “I’ve taken you on nearly every surface in our flat. But we’ve never had shower sex.” 

“I think you’re right,” Louis gasps, “we must fix this immediately.” 

“We  _ must _ ,” Harry repeats, grinning coyly. “You trust me?” 

“Of course I do. What’re you -  _ oh _ .” 

Louis scrambles for purchase on Harry’s body when he’s lifted into the air, rearranged until his legs are hooked over Harry’s arms. The position leaves his lower half completely vulnerable and he tenses against the current of cool air seeping in from the open slit of the shower curtain. 

“You’re so strong, Daddy,” Louis says, halfway teasing and halfway  _ very _ turned on at his show of strength. 

“Thank you, baby,” he laughs. “Gonna fuck you now, ‘kay?” 

His quiet  _ please _ gets lost in the noise of the shower, in the quick movement of Harry’s cock slipping inside of him naturally. He thinks Harry probably opened him up sometime this morning because the slide is all too easy and Louis doesn’t even flinch. Then again, he reasons, his body has probably learned Harry’s shape by now, probably welcomes the familiar intrusion without much of a fuss. 

The water comes down on half of them, their skin slick where Harry supports him with his arms and his cock. Louis just came less than ten minutes ago but he feels like he could go for hours. Judging by how hard Harry’s hips are pushing him up the wall, Louis guesses he feels much the same way. 

He can feel the tile wall on his spine in a lulling pattern. The rough surface and the pace of Harry’s thrusts should make him feel jostled, but Louis leans down to rest his forehead on Harry’s shoulder and ignores the ache beginning in his stretched thighs, sighing contentedly. 

“That’s my boy,” Harry soothes, hand still holding the back of his head, “Daddy’s gorgeous birthday boy.” 

Stifling a wet laugh in Harry’s neck, Louis clings to him and lets himself be bounced up and down, further and further until the muscles in Harry’s back clench under his fingers. 

“Touch yourself, baby,” he tells Louis. 

Louis reaches a hand to palm himself despite his petulant frown, knowing Harry can’t let go of him to get him off right now. With how he’s already doing most of the work, all Louis has to do is plant a loose fist around his prick and follow the movement. 

Harry grabs him roughly by the jaw and kisses him, sucking on his tongue greedily. He licks over his open mouth before diving in again, trying to devour him through this alone. It’s unexpectedly hot and Louis shudders as his body is completely covered by Harry’s broad shoulders. 

He doesn’t panic when they start slipping, when they end up on the shower floor. Harry doesn’t slow down at all, either, hands moving to grip his hips instead as he hovers awkwardly above him in the small space. 

Something shifts in their position and Harry’s cock nails his prostate roughly. Louis wails, reaching for the side of the tub to steady himself as his head tilts backward. 

Harry’s big hand comes down on his mouth to cover the noise and - that’s  _ it _ . Louis comes. So hard that his vision goes white for a second, barely registering Harry coming inside of him in return. 

He tries to keep up when Harry stands him up and washes him off. Louis feels the hands in his hair and over his back and where Harry just pulled out of him, his eyes closed, swaying along with him. 

Quietly, Harry sings to him for the next few minutes while the soap trails down to the drain. He doesn’t stop when he holds Louis’ hand to help him out to dry off, when he slides new clothes up his legs and over his shoulders. 

“Love it when you sing to me,” Louis whispers. 

Harry clears his throat and blushes the slightest bit, turning to the side with a sniff. 

“I love singing to you,” he says softly. 

He parts from him to pick a change of clothes from his luggage and Louis tries (and fails) to not stare blatantly at his bare arse. Smiling to himself, he follows him over with a roll of his eyes. 

“Go get your jeans from the dryer,” he tells Harry, “Your mum put them in last night. I’ll pick out a shirt.” 

“Thanks, baby,” he mutters, kissing Louis’ cheek before jogging down to the laundry. 

Leaning down, Louis tries to make sense of the mess inside of Harry’s bag, all of his shirts twisted up and mixed with his socks. Still, he can spot one of his favorites relatively quickly, pulling it out to set on the bed. He flips the top of the suitcase shut, frowning when something makes a noise in the front. 

He reaches a hand in without thinking about it, fingers coming across a small box. Louis rips his fingers out immediately. 

He’d already ruined the collar surprise by getting ahead of himself like that. Whatever it was that he’d just felt, Louis is going to leave it alone until Harry wants him to have it, if it’s even for him in the first place. 

“Got it,” Harry trots back into the room, his jeans already on. 

“I picked out a shirt,” Louis says lamely, offering it to him. 

Harry slides it on without any comment. Mouth dry, Louis lets his eyes rake over him fully, appreciatively. 

“I love you,” Louis tells him. 

Gaze softening, Harry embraces him tightly with a quirk of his lips. 

“I love you too, boo.” 

He combs his hair in the mirror until he’s satisfied before taking Louis’ hand to lead him downstairs. Once they’re halfway down the steps, he puts his hands over Louis’ eyes. 

“Hazza, I can’t see,” he squeals, grabbing for his arm. 

“I’ve got you,” Harry assures, “trust me, yeah?” 

When they get to the kitchen Louis isn’t expecting anything but some breakfast and a quiet morning. What he gets instead is Anne and Gemma standing behind the table, balloons on either side, a giant cake in the middle when Harry moves his hand. 

He’s crying before he can try to stop it. Big, fat, embarrassing tears that shake his chest and blur his vision so much that he can’t see anything anymore. 

“Baby,” he can hear Harry saying. 

Hands are on him, Harry’s and Anne’s and Gemma’s, but he shakes his head at them. 

“M’fine,” he manages a shaky smile at them. 

“Was it too much?” Gemma asks him, rubbing his back. 

“No, no,” he sniffs. “Just - I’m so grateful. Thank you.” 

Everyone piles on for a group hug until he catches his breath, comforting him before he’s led over to the table to get a closer look. 

Louis blinks hard to clear the tears, leaning into Harry’s thumb when he wipes some away himself. He feels pathetic for being so emotional but - he’d checked his phone after midnight last night and twice this morning. Nothing from his family. 

Which he isn’t complaining about still, but, even when he was home they did little to acknowledge his birthday unless it was Christmas gifts. 

Last year he and Harry visited here too but had to leave before Christmas eve. He’s really glad they decided to stay this year. 

“Blow out your candles,” Anne points, “make a wish.” 

Stepping forward, Louis regards the candles shining brightly, considering what he wants to wish for. He wants so many things. Louis wants Harry’s album to do well. He wants to start writing some more of his own music. He wants Liam and Niall to get to do what they want, even if Liam insists on wearing that awful chain necklace while he does it. 

He wants  _ this _ \- to be surrounded by family and by Harry and by their friends back at home. To make plans of their future with those people. To see their faces when they finally announce their freedom in front of them in a few years in black and white. 

But there’s only one thing he’s absolutely sure of. He catches Harry’s eye and blows out the candles. 

“Happy birthday, Lou,” Harry whispers. 

Grinning, Louis wipes at his eyes again as Gemma cuts him a slice of the cake. He cuddles back into Harry’s embrace, clutching at his arms around his stomach. 

“It’s eight thirty,” he laughs when Harry accepts the plate she hands them, already picking some up on a fork and lifting it to Louis’ mouth. 

“So?” She shrugs, “Who said we can’t have cake for breakfast?” 

The two women float around the room effortlessly, moving his balloons to the den and pouring them something to drink. He and Harry don’t move much, swaying gently to a noiseless melody while they take turns eating. 

“Happy?” Harry says just for him to hear. 

Louis swallows down his mouthful of cake and spins in his arms until they’re hugging once again. 

“So happy,” he agrees. 

He smirks, taking the plate and smearing it all across Harry’s cheeks quickly. This time, even as Harry threatens to do it back, Louis doesn’t run. 

+

By the time noon rolls around, Louis’ already back in the kitchen. Anne stands close to him, organizing the ingredients accordingly. 

They’re making Louis’ favorite cookies. He hasn’t said anything to Harry yet about the reason he likes them so much and he probably never will, but his mother used to make similar ones each year on his birthday. Louis doesn’t much mind sharing the tradition with Anne now. 

“Thanks again for this morning,” Louis tells her, “And for letting me come and stay with you guys.” 

Anne pauses her stirring to glance up at him with a brow raised, “Louis, honey, surely you know you’re more than welcome here by now.” 

“I do know,” he nods. “I’m just - it’s always so nice. Like coming home.” 

She says nothing but gives him a secretive smile, resuming where she left off on the dough. Louis continues to try and help even though he’s hopeless at cooking, pulling out the pans and cookie cutters from the cabinet. 

“I mean, I’m pretty sure we’re going to see you for the rest of our lives,” she says, “so you should probably get used to the feeling.” 

Louis goes speechless at that, too afraid he’ll say something overly romantic about her son. Because that, what she’d just said, implies something that Louis very much wants. He tries not to let too much of it show. Instead he blushes and huffs out a laugh, blinking stubbornly at the sheen of wetness over his eyes until it clears. 

“I have a question,” Louis says abruptly, biting his tongue a moment too late. 

“I’ll do my best to answer it,” Anne smiles. 

She’s still focused on the baking so Louis takes his chance, standing somewhat behind her in the small kitchen so he won’t have to be as vulnerable. 

“You don’t have to answer, really, if it’s too personal.” 

“You can ask me anything, Louis,” she says, beginning to roll the dough out on the pan he’d set out. 

“How did - when you met Robin, how did you know you wanted to spend the rest of your lives together?” 

Anne nods to herself, pursing her lips in thought. Eventually she puts a hand on her hip and glances up at the ceiling. 

“I don’t think I did at first,” she laughs. “We certainly had our fair share of arguments in the beginning. We were both so stubborn.” 

He keeps silent as she reminisces inside of her head. A smile of his own finds its way onto his lips unbidden the more she speaks. Louis’ eyes follow the movement as she shapes the cookies on the baking sheet. 

“It was nothing I’d ever experienced before. With Robin there was never a dull moment, nothing too boring. Even when we were just stuck at home together it was always enough. Every second we spent together was better than if we’d been apart.” 

_ Enough _ , Louis thinks. He knows what that feels like. Most of Louis’ memories with Harry begin the same way. They’re so well suited for each other that he doesn’t think anyone else would be able to handle either of them separately. Even if they’re just cuddling or talking, regardless of any scenes or things like that, Louis’ never had any doubt. He’s had insecurities about himself, but never about Harry. 

“So, in that regard, I’d say it was just that. Knowing that I still felt the same way even in the quiet moments, when anyone else would have left,” she finishes. “Does that make sense?” 

The oven door creaks open as Anne slides the pan inside and sets the timer. 

“Yeah, it does.” Louis nods. 

She hesitates, “Was that what you were hoping to hear?” 

Louis isn’t daft - he knows what she’s asking.  _ Does he feel that way about Harry? _ It doesn’t take him long to find the answer. 

“Yes,” he says, “it’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” 

Her relieved sigh is soft but loud in the enclosed space. Louis pushes off of the counter he’d been leaning on to stand next to her again. Before the silence can get uncomfortable, Anne pulls him sideways into a hug. 

“Good,” she pats his head lovingly, something he remembers his own mother doing ages ago, “Now c’mon, we’ve got to make the icing.” 

+

“Got any last minute birthday wishes?” Harry asks him, leading him upstairs after dinner. 

He’d gotten to open his presents from Gemma and Anne around the table, but Harry had politely excused them after dessert to open his in their room. 

“Nope,” Louis shakes his head, “Just you.” 

Harry pecks his puckered lips twice before nudging him over to the bed to sit down. Once he does, Harry rifles through his suitcase for a few minutes with his back to Louis before he raises the object triumphantly. 

Several wrapped gifts are laid out across the sheets in front of him. Harry settles across from him and points. 

“Go on, open them.” 

“Pushy,” Louis teases, picking up the first one. 

It seems Harry had a similar idea when picking Louis’ presents, several of his favorite candy bars littered over the top. Unlike Louis, he’d separated each of Louis’ gits into different packages. 

Louis gets several things he’s been wanting, a scarf he’s been eyeing recently as well as some new shoes, then some other random things Harry’d picked out for him. Harry smiles when he opens the last one, a blank cd with ‘ _ Lou’ _ written across it in his handwriting. 

“What’s this?” He asks, flipping it back and forth in his hands. 

“That,” Harry addresses him, “is the first full copy of my new album. I figured since I wrote it about you you should get to be the first one to hear it.” 

“No one’s heard it yet?” 

“No one,” Harry shakes his head. 

“Not your mum? Not your label?”

“They’ve heard parts of it but not the entire thing. Stayed late one night at the studio to put it all together for you.” 

Louis grins at him, cradling the cd to his chest. He’s always one of the first ones to hear Harry’s music but he’s never been  _ the _ first. He feels giddy already to dig into the lyrics written specifically for him to hear. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he slides over to press a kiss to his lips. 

“One more,” he kisses him back, then hands Louis a bag he’d had behind his back. 

Narrowing his eyes at him, Louis accepts it hesitantly, sticking his arm inside the tall bag. Synthetic fur touches his fingertips, smooth when he runs a hand over the surface. The stuffed bear that Louis pulls out is just the right size for his hands, a deep chocolate brown, and has sweet black eyes that seem to bore into Louis’ own as they blur with his emotions. 

“I know you still have the one I got for you from tour,” Harry starts, “but I thought he could use a friend, maybe?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Louis leans forward, awkwardly throwing his arms around Harry’s shoulder for a hug. 

Harry rubs his back until he pulls away, then directs his attention to the bottom of the bear’s feet. 

“Look,” he says, holding one up, “I got it embroidered this time.” 

Instead of the faded sharpie scrawl that’s on his bear at home, this one has elegant lettering with the same H.S. and L.T. on the material. Louis rubs his finger over it and notes the way no black ink lingers on his skin. This one is  _ permanent _ . 

“It’s perfect, H. I love it,” he whispers, leaning into his embrace against the headboard. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Harry smiles. “Happy birthday, Lou.” 

Louis smiles, then remembers his own gift for Harry. He’d been planning to save it for Christmas but now feels like the right time. 

“Here,” Louis fetches it from his bag and hands it to him, “For you.” 

“It isn’t my birthday, love,” he chuckles. 

“I know, just - open it. Please.” 

Brows turning inward, Harry seems to notice that Louis is serious. He takes the bag from him that Gemma helped him arrange the day prior, decorated with bows and colorful stuffing. Harry’s eyes light up when he sees the candy on top. 

“You know me too well,” he grins, already unwrapping one to pop in his mouth. 

“Just wait,” Louis says, accepting the other one that Harry presses to his lips. 

He tears through the paper like a child under Louis’ gaze, excitedly feeling around for the gift inside. Louis’d packed it lengthwise, so the gift bag is tall with presents littered throughout. The  _ Kiss the Cook _ apron peeks out first, unfurling fully when Harry pulls it out to take a look. 

“Oh,” he smirks, “I  _ very _ much like this. Thank you, baby.” 

“Keep going,” Louis urges. 

Next come the salt and pepper shakers. With a vibrant rainbow printed across the fronts, Harry’s eyes widen and he brings it closer to look at the detailing. 

“I like the kitchen theme we’ve got going on here,” he teases. 

This time Louis doesn’t dignify him with a response, rolling his eyes silently. Harry pulls out the Home Sweet Home charms for their keychains and bites his lip. 

“Think these are my favorite,” he whispers, smiling brightly at him. 

Louis lets him get up to grab his keys and slip it onto his ring before he says anything else. He does so quickly, hurrying back to the other side of the room to look for Louis’ keys as well. When both of them have the charms, he comes back to the bed. 

“There’s one more thing.” 

Harry picks up the seemingly empty bag again confusedly, weighing it in his hands. 

“You sure?” He asks. 

Nodding, Louis nudges him toward it. 

“I didn’t feel any-” Harry stops short when he presumably touches the small fabric at the bottom of the gift, the column of his throat bobbing up and down. 

With the size of his palms alone, Louis bets the entire onesie is encased in his hand. He smiles at the image that puts in his head, holding his breath. 

Yellow stripes are revealed once again as Harry slowly lifts them from the paper. The bag itself falls to the ground when he realizes what it is. 

“I still don’t mean  _ now _ ,” Louis says quietly, “but I was an idiot to try to act like I didn’t want that with you. I want everything with you, Harry. And I’m so sorry that I didn’t accept that sooner.” 

“Lou,” he chokes, tumbling forwards onto the bed. 

Breath leaving his lungs, Louis falls back onto the sheets with Harry hovering above him, the onesie nestled symbolically in between their chests. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I - are you  _ kidding _ me?” Harry scoffs, “This is - besides you, this is the best gift  _ ever _ , Louis. I love it so much. Love  _ you _ so much,” he kisses him. 

Louis can feel the teddy bear to the side and he reaches for it, tugging it under his arm while Harry licks into his mouth. 

“I’m going to marry you,” he says simply, pulling back. 

Louis doesn’t have time to be shocked. Harry wraps him up in his arms and kisses his cheek simply. 

“You - you are?” 

“Yes,” he nods. “One day I’m going to tell the entire world how much I love you,” Harry grabs his hand and points to his finger, “I’m going to put a ring right there and I’m going to wear yours on my own hand and it’s going to be absolutely fucking amazing.” 

Grinning so wide all of his teeth show, Louis laughs wetly with happiness. 

“Gonna bring you home with me for every holiday. Watch my mum and sister cry when we bring the kids over,” he continues breathlessly. “Gonna love you until I die.” 

“I think I’d like that,” Louis whispers quietly into the space between them. 

“Oh, you  _ think _ , do you?” Harry teases. 

“I  _ know _ ,” Louis insists. 

Harry takes him slowly after he slips his collar on, romantically on his childhood bed with his family down the hall, his body blanketing Louis’ and their hands clasped tightly together. He presses a sweet kiss to their intertwined fingers as soon as he comes, then to Louis’ sweaty forehead over his hair. 

“My baby,” he smiles, “my love, my darling boy,” Harry noses at his cheek until he looks at him, “My Louis.” 

Louis kisses him extra hard so that he won’t point out the tears in his eyes, dribbling slickly down his cheeks and between their mouths. Salty on their tongues, he sighs into Harry’s open mouth. 

“Love you so much, Lou,” Harry whispers, cradling his head in his hand. 

“Love you too,” Louis grins, settling into his chest comfortably on their sides. 

He falls asleep on Christmas eve another year older, dreaming about the small black box he’d found in Harry’s luggage, unworried about any timelines. His smile is just as blinding even in the complete darkness of the room, facing away from Harry but ineffably close. Louis snuggles closer and exhales and, for now, for  _ always _ , it’s so much more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/614173959492173824/forgive-the-urgency-but-hurry-up-and-wait) :)


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